


Who are you?

by Sleeping_Hitman



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Date Rape, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drug Abuse, Dysfunctional Relationships, Everybody Dies, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Bashing, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Murder, New York City, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychosis, Religious Content, Reyes is Cuban, Reyes is a drug dealer, Self-Loathing, Serial Killers, Soulmates, Suicide, Torture, True Love, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, institutionalization, rape/revenge, this is seriously dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-03-30 22:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 28
Words: 40,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleeping_Hitman/pseuds/Sleeping_Hitman
Summary: Scott is a troubled young man; no one around him is entirely safe. He breeds chaos, misery, and darkness wherever he goes... but also light.Reyes is just as disturbed in his own way, and immediately becomes obsessed with the blue eyed stranger.





	1. Part One: 1984

**Author's Note:**

> By the tags alone, I've probably told you the whole story. Ha!  
> In the beginning, things stay light. Simply exploring Scott in this AU and the connections he makes, so most of the tags won't apply 'til later.  
> It's intended to be quite dark, so things will quickly spiral out of control and get outright disgusting, I'll warn ahead of time when it gets really bad for those not wanting to go there with me! However, the entire work is one giant trigger alert, even the more lighthearted scenes. No, really. I've tried to put most of them in the tags, so you'll know what's up.  
> Also, note: Scott is introduced as 16 and Reyes as 22, so there is some consensual, but underage sexual content in the first chunk. Actually, due to his state of mind, you could probably consider a lot of it dub/con. 
> 
> I've never posted any fics before, so I've never gotten feedback. I hope my writing portrays what I'm trying to get across. Bear with me, folks!  
> And feel free to comment. I know limited Spanish and Latin and use a fair amount of it in this work, so if my grammar is appalling, send me a message and I'll change it up ASAP!

**Part 1:** **1984**

_I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then. -Lewis Carroll_

 -----------------------------------------------------------

**August 5, 1984**

Reyes wasn’t a bad man, but neither was he good. He lived his life in hazy shades of grey, morality being a luxury of the privileged. Not that he minded his place in the world. He’d established himself in the city, made a name for himself, and grown into something of a hedonist, which, ironically, some would say was a luxury of the privileged.

He was born in Cuba to a poor family, his father absentee and mother abusive. Those were the only details of home he would ever provide. He fled in 1980 at the age of 18. Castro had declared that all Cubans wishing to migrate to America where free to leave, so he packed a bag, hopped on a boat outside of Havana and arrived in Florida the following day with over 100,000 other immigrants. Instead of staying in Miami with most of his fellow expats, he continued north until he found himself in New York City.

NYC was an entirely new beast to tame. He quickly had to learn how to con and bend the rules to attain what he needed. Over the next four years, he was established as a man who dealt in trade. Drugs, weapons, secrets. Goods for services, or cold hard cash, he could work with whatever payment was offered. He understood the seedy underbelly of the place he lived and flourished in it.

Reyes set up shop in a sleezy nightclub dubbed Tartarus. Red lights, caged dancers, prostitutes running rampant. The owner, a man of dubious standards, had worked out an arrangement with him. The details of which were quite hush hush, but in exchange, he let Reyes take over one of the large private rooms, previously used for “entertaining” guests.

It was there, at Tartarus, in the year of our lord 1984, that Reyes had first met Scott.

Reyes had been doling out drugs from his back-room lair and received cash and oral favors in return. He wasn’t expecting anyone else for the evening, so he decided to grab a drink or five from the bar, exchange a few words with Kian, then head home to his warehouse loft in Bushwick. He lifted himself off his leather clad sofa and walked to the door. He locked up the room behind him, then walked down the metal staircase that led to the main floor.

Reyes eyes scanned the room as he made his way to Kian. The owner liked to tend his own bar whenever he could, so like most nights, he labored away serving drinks to his (mostly underaged) patrons. He occasionally made a show at checking IDs, but ultimately didn’t give a shit, so long as they had money to pay up front.

 It was a night like any other, might have been a Tuesday. It was always decently busy this time of night, regardless of the day. He watched couples grinding to whatever non-descript synth-pop the DJ was playing, a group of teens doing a line of coke at a booth in the corner, not as discreet as they thought they were. He idly wondered where they got it, not from him. As he bellied up to the bar, his eyes found a young man standing alone in the corner, looking to be engaged in a heated conversation with himself. Even at this distance, and the lights dimmed, he could see a pair of startlingly blue eyes.

He held up two fingers as Kian sidled over, eyes never leaving the strange boy. He was wearing non-descript clothing, a grey hoodie, tattered skinny jeans and high-top Chuck Taylors. Despite his outward presentation, and quite possibly having a screw loose, Reyes was immediately smitten. “Who’s he?” he asked Kian as he set down two glasses of Bulleit Rye, neat. He saw the other man shrug in his periphery. No matter. Reyes was taking this boy home. End of story.

The boy must have felt Reyes watching him, because his eyes suddenly locked onto him, staring in return. His mouth stopped moving and he seemed… indecisive. Reyes held up a glass of the bourbon and gave him a questioning look. The boy with the blue eyes fidgeted with the string on his hoodie, chewing the end. Despite it likely being a nervous habit, the way he worked his mouth was quite suggestive. He took a few hesitant steps forward at the invitation.

In less than a heartbeat, something in the boy’s eyes shifted, turning feral, predatorial, hungry. Eyes locked on Reyes, he began to stalk the length of the room, wicked half grin on his face. Every step was sure and focused, he knew what he wanted and was surely hunting it. An owl on a mouse, lion upon oryx. Reyes couldn’t help but think he was in for a wild night with this one.

Mid stride, blue eyes shifted again, became glassy, then refocused. His steps faltered, and he looked uncertain, like the boy had been only moments ago, like he found it curious he was in motion. Reyes cocked his head in gesture for the boy to join him.

As he finally reached the bar, eyes wide and sparkling in the disco lights, Reyes handed him one of the glasses of bourbon, gave him a nod, then sipped from his own glass. Before he could open his mouth to speak, the young man snatched the whiskey out of his hand, “I want that one.” He downed it in one swallow, then handed the other full glass back to Reyes. _Cautious boy._ Reyes smiled a sly smile.

“Reyes,” he offered his hand in greeting. The boy was obviously waiting for him to sip out of the suspect glass of liquid before offering information, scrutinizing him with bold curiosity. Reyes shrugged, then downed his whiskey. He turned and whistled at Kian, then held up two fingers and gave the man a nod.

“Again? I’m Reyes,” this time he didn’t offer his hand, just tilted his head and took those blue eyes in.

“Ssscott,” he popped the hoodie string back between his teeth and started working it. Realizing that he was calling attention to his full mouth, and noticing Reyes’ appraising stare, he blushed and quickly held out his hand, averting his eyes. Reyes grasped the outstretched hand, but let the contact linger, running his thumb over smooth skin.

Kian set another round of whiskey next to the two strangers. Reyes let Scott chose his own glass. Scott grabbed one, “I’ve got time for a drink.”

“What brings you here? I’ve not seen you before.” Reyes took a sip.

“I…” Scott looked around in a daze, appearing to only now notice where he was. “Where...?”

“Brooklyn?” Reyes offered.

“I’m… in Brooklyn,” he looked so lost. Taking a swallow of whiskey, he looked inward for a moment, eyes glazed again. When he came back, he was suddenly confident and cocky. He raised his eyebrows for a second and leaned towards Reyes, “You must be Shena. Evfra’s resistance contact?”

Oh Dios mío, the boy was batshit nuts. But Reyes was intrigued, and enamored by those ever shifting, crystal blue eyes. “Shena? Call me Reyes.” He suddenly barked a short laugh, “I always hated code names.” He gave a sly wink.

“Scott Ryder. Have to admit, I was expecting you to be more… Angaran.”

“Angaran, I…” he shrugged and shook his head, at a loss for how to continue. “Do you have anywhere to stay? You look a bit worse for wear.” Reyes slid a finger down the side of Scott’s arm ‘til he reached a small hole near the elbow.

“The tempest is docked at the port, I have quarters there.”

Reyes highly doubted the kid lived on a boat, but it wasn’t completely out of the question. But it was out of the question to go chasing ghosts this late at night.

“Tell you what, Scott. It’s a long ride to the docks and transport this time of night is slim. Stay at mine and we’ll get you to the marina in the morning.”

Scott laughed and gave Reyes a quizzical grin, “Marina?! At Kadara?” He snorted.  “The Tempest is an Initiative survey ship. It’s at the port.”  

“Survey ship, of course” Reyes slapped his forehead in mock forgetfulness. “The closest dock for larger vessels is a couple hours from here. Lucky for you, I’m only 4 blocks.”

Scott grabbed his hoodie string and popped it back in his mouth, no longer seeming embarrassed by how it drew Reyes’ gaze to his lips. His eyes started going glassy again. He moved a step closer then took Reyes’ hand in his own. “Can we go home, now?” He asked in a husky monotone.

Reyes tipped his head back, shut his eyes and groaned to himself, _I’m such a bad, bad man._

He signaled Kian one last time. “Bottle to go. I’ll catch you up mañana.”  

Bottle of whiskey in one hand and Scott’s hand in the other, he led the boy out the doors and into the heavy Brooklyn night air. Little did Reyes know it at the time, and despite repeating the sentiment regularly over the next 8 years, Scott Ryder would in fact be the death of him. That first night together began a countdown to the end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing up most of the story, the live action Scott and Reyes kinda morphed into these guys in my head.  
> So, there you have it.


	2. A fallen angel

It took about 10 minutes to walk to the warehouse Reyes kept his flat in. It had been a massive, exposed brick room, empty of everything but a toilet and utility sink when he first bought the studio space. He spent several weeks putting up drywall to create separate rooms, installing proper bathroom and kitchen plumbing, painting, and throwing down stone tiles and hardwood. He furnished it with high end and designer goods bought on consignment.  It was a lot of work, but it looked swank in the end, so it was worth the effort.

Scott’s eyes widened when they entered. “You’re rich?” He ogled shamelessly.

Reyes threw his keys on the kitchen island, set down the bottle of whiskey and leaned back on his elbows.  “Heavens, no! I’m just very good at getting what I want” He winked his teasing wink.

Scotts eyebrows lifted briefly as he moved forward and closed the gap between them. “You want _me?_ ” The hoodie string was back in his mouth, bright blue eyes framed with long black lashes gazed up at him.

 _Game over._ Reyes pushed himself off the counter and flattened himself against the young man, pushing him backwards with hands gripping his unruly brown hair until Scott hit the wall with a thud. They held eye contact for a moment before his lips came down and they met in a slow, wistful kiss, contradictory to the force that brought their bodies together.

Scott’s trembling hands reached up to Reye’s face, then slid down his neck, slipping under the lapels of his jacket, easing it off his shoulders and to the floor. Reyes returned the favor by lifting Scott’s hoodie over his head, t-shirt coming off in the process. He leaned down to kiss, pale, smooth skin, tongue tracing the curve of Scott’s neck. He dropped to his knees, removing Scott’s shoes, then lifted his hands to undo the button and zip of his skinny, dark grey jeans.  He slid the pants down to his ankles, then brought his face to Scott’s abdomen, leaving wet, teasing kisses on his belly, tongue grazing in slow, soft circles, leisurely working his way down.  

Scott let it all happen with barely a sound, with exception of heavy breathing and a couple small gasps when lips, tongue, or teeth caressed a particularly sensitive area. Once Reyes’ lips finally found his shaft, mouth wide, taking in the entire length of him in one swift, practiced motion, Scott’s head tipped back, striking the wall with a loud thwack. A series of long, slow moans escaped. Scott curled his fingers gently through Reyes’ dark waves, moving his hands with the motion of his bobbing head, not wanting to upset the rhythm, but needing to touch. “Oh, god…” he breathed. “I’m almost…” It hadn’t taken long. He couldn’t recall feeling such a marvelous sensation before.

Reyes stopped. “Not yet,” He looked up. His speckled, amber eyes were littered with lecherous mischief. He tugged Scott’s pants off his ankles and threw them blindly behind him. He stood up and expeditiously removed the last few articles of his own clothing, Scott watching with an approving stare as his athletic, golden body was revealed.

Reyes pushed himself against Scott, wrapping his arms around his waist as he kissed the blue-eyed stranger deeply. He felt arms slide around his neck. He lowered his hands to firmly grasp Scott by the ass, then lifted him up, thighs spreading to settle around his hips as he held him firm to the wall. He thrust his hips, grinding his erection between Scott’s cheeks, the friction calling out his need to penetrate.

Reyes walked them back into his bedroom and threw Scott down onto his back with brutal force, causing him to bounce several times as he settled onto the bed. Scott grunted with the shock, then laughed as he tried shifting himself up higher on the bed. Reyes grabbed him by the ankles and slid him back down, prone. He shoved himself between the boy’s legs and slammed his wrists down above his head. Scott looked startled and slightly scared at the sudden ferociousness, but when Reyes met his mouth with a wild, voracious kiss, he kissed back just as hungrily, letting out slow, breathy moans.

Reyes sat back, then leaned over to his bedside table, grabbing condoms and lubricant. He ripped open a packet and started sheathing himself, pinching the end and rolling the slick latex down his shaft. As he opened the cap of his lube, Scott lifted himself up onto his elbows, a confused look creeping across his face. He looked around the room, then up at Reyes, who had paused in his action to watch the strange creature below him. As their gazes met, Scott let out a small surprised gasp, his eyes widening for a second. He took in the sight of the man looming above him, a shocked look crossing his face. He lifted his eyebrows for a moment, then suddenly let out a sound through his teeth that sounded like a purr.

Scott burst into a mirthful laugh, “Hi!” He bit his lip as he continued smiling up at Reyes.

Unable to keep a small laugh from escaping his own lips, Reyes set the lube aside and leaned over and rested his forehead on Scott’s. “Hi,”

“So… We’re… rutting” Scott tilted his head back, butting Reyes’s nose with his own.

“Yeah,” Reyes whispered with a laugh still on his lips.

Scott put his hand behind Reyes’ head and pulled him into a devouring kiss. Other hand groping beside him for the discarded bottle. He found it, then pushed the bottle at Reyes to continue what he had started. “I… want you... inside me… right now.” Reyes complied. It was short work getting Scott loosened up enough to take him.

He watched Scott’s face as their hips worked together, back and forth. He was a quivering mess, jerking motions awkward and seemingly inexperienced. Reyes slowed the rhythm as a thought occurred to him, “You have done this before, right?” Scott laughed between thrusts and answered with shaking breath, “I don’t…  know… I… can’t… remember.” Reyes slowed the pace further. “It all feels so familiar, though,” Scott said through a moan, “ _You_ feel familiar.” Reyes kept up the slow pace for a time, eyeing the sighing enigma beneath him with a growing curiosity, but need quickly overtook him.

Reyes abruptly thrust repeatedly into him hard and fast, savage and animalistic, causing Scott’s moans to turn into a throaty wail. Scott was becoming frantic below him, on the verge of release, as he was himself. He lowered his sweat drenched torso down on the boy to lend friction to the cause. It took only a few heaves before he could feel Scott erupting against his abdomen, hot and sticky, head rearing back to the tangled sheets, crying out in frenzied satisfaction. His reaction was enough to put Reyes over the edge. Moments later, he was achieving the same gratifying end, enclosing Scott’s sweat salted mouth in his own. Release. He moaned into the kiss, his hips bucking forward in one final thrust, as deep as he could bury himself.

 Spent, breathing heavily, he put his head on the bed next to Scott’s, giving a few last kisses to his neck, then rolled onto his back. Scott turned to his side, facing Reyes and embraced him, shifting a leg over his thighs and an arm around his waist. Scott looked at him with several different emotions painted across his face. Desire, need, hesitation. Trust. Reyes shifted his arm under Scott’s head and pulled his face to his chest. The boy nuzzled in and fell straight to sleep. _Oh, Dios mío, where did you come from? I’m a bad, bad man._

  ---

The following morning Reyes awoke to find Scott propped up on one elbow, studying his face, arm draped across Reyes’ chest, idly fingering a patch of soft, curly hair. “You been awake long?” He grabbed the hand, kissing the fingertips gently, then let it drop as he stretched.

Scott’s eyes flickered to the clock on the night stand. “Couple hours.”

“And you’ve been watching me sleep the whole time?”

“Just getting to know you. I’m… afraid I don’t know your name,” he bit his lower lip. Reyes had seen him do it often enough in the last 12 hours that he supposed it had to be a nervous habit, like his fixation with the hoodie string. He didn’t mind watching him do it, not at all.

“I’m Reyes,” he sat up, moving his pillow to support his back against the headboard.  

“I’ve… woken up in all sorts of places the last couple years. I… black out? I don’t know what triggers it, or what causes me to snap back when I do…” He shrugged. “It’s just my life. I’m used to it. I don’t think other people get used to it, though. I… well, thanks. It’s clear what you brought me here for, and I obviously didn’t mind, but it’s nice to wake up in a bed and not in some back alley, or in the middle of a knife fight or… I don’t have to leave, do I?”

Reyes shook his head during the short intermission while Scott stopped to breathe, “You don’t have to leave.” He was a tad perplexed by his answer, but he really _didn’t_ want to throw the boy out. Normally he’d be hauling whoever was in his bed out to the curb before breakfast, if not before sleep hit him. _Curious._

A look of relief crossed Scott’s face, “Oh and, that was a lot of fun. Last night, I mean. It’s more fun than I thought it would be. Remembering things is… nice. You’re fucking hot, by the way.  I want to do it again. With you, that is. If that’s ok. I’m… jumbled, rambling, _SO_ sorry.” His plump lower lip went back between his teeth.

“It’s cute,” Reyes smiled sleepily. _Shit he’s young._ Reyes leaned forward, slightly bending his knees and rested his elbows upon them, sheets falling to his waist. He tilted his head, looking over to the bubbling Scott. “Coffee?”

Reyes’ soft wavy hair caught the glow of sunshine coming in through the window, clouds drifting away, creating magnificent beams of illumination that cast about the room.  Scott’s eyes lit up and a look of awe and wonder crossed his youthful, smiling face.

“Lucifer…” he whispered. “He was the most glorious of all god’s creations. Cast forth, he now walks among us mortals and is far too beautiful to behold. My eyes should be ashes." 

Struck dumb, Reyes stared at the sparkling blue eyes that seemed to be memorizing every detail of his face. Finally, he found his voice, “Well…” He cleared his throat, “I always knew I was devilishly handsome.” He gave a bashful smile.

Scott laughed and leaned over to kiss him, pushing him back against the pillows. “I’d like milk and honey,” he whispered into Reyes’ mouth.

“hmmm?”

“In my coffee.”

It was another hour before Reyes got up to brew them a pot.

 

 

 

 


	3. Got butter?

Later that morning, they conversed over a breakfast of coffee, toast, and fruit in proper Cuban fashion. Well, it wasn’t really a conversation, per se, for Reyes was a laconic man and Scott had a propensity for manic rambling. A thing that would normally bother Reyes, but something about the boy kept him captivated, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Je ne sais quoi. So, he listened to the peculiar, disconnected way Scott spoke and offered a word here and there in return.

He did discover a few things of note. Scott was, indeed, as young as he seemed. Sixteen as of last month. Reyes groaned at that. He didn’t really give a shit, but with Scott’s mental state, he had to wonder if there weren’t family members, hospital staff, or hell, even cops, after him. That was something he would get to the bottom of sooner than later, but not this very moment. It would likely slip out on its own and relieve him of the need to investigate.

He also learned that Scott had been transient for two years, having left behind a facility he was permanently housed in. He called it Citadel, though Reyes was sure there was a different name for it. Scott claimed no recollection of how he escaped, and since then he had been frequently “waking up” in different cities, weeks at a time, sometimes months, completely erased from his memory. He said he felt like New York was where he needed to be and hoped he got to stay for a while.

Reyes considered the information. Two years wandering. Any missing person reports on him were likely considered cold cases by now, no chance that he’d be placed as accessory to whatever mishaps led to the boys escape. He’d have to do some research into this “Citadel” and see what sort of facility it was.

As Reyes was cleaning up the breakfast dishes and Scott continued his circuitous monologue, the phone rang. Scott’s eyes went wide and darted around the room, the sound cutting off his speech entirely. Reyes went to the phone on the far side of the counter, pausing to quickly kiss Scott’s full lips as he passed.

“Yeah?” He answered. Pause. Reyes groaned, “Ok, Kian, be there soon.” He hung up the receiver and turned around to find that Scott had moved in close behind him. They would have been nose to nose as he turned, had Scott been a couple inches taller. Scott looked up at him with large, round eyes, then threw his arms around Reyes’ middle.

Reyes tried to untangle himself from Scott’s embrace, but was unsuccessful, resigning himself to gently pet the young man’s hair. He kissed the top of his head, “I have to go back to Tartarus, there are people waiting for me. Work stuff.” Scott squeezed harder, making Reyes grunt. He sighed, “You can come with me, I just need to make a phone call first.”

Scott finally gave him enough slack to maneuver to the phone, but not before nuzzling his face into Reyes’ neck, giving a wet kiss and soft bite. Reyes cursed Kian, he wanted to feel Scott all over him again. Sighing, he turned in the embrace, Scott now pressed firmly behind him, and picked up the phone receiver, then spun the rotary seven times. Scott’s hands found their way inside his shirt and caressed the patch of hair that lead down below his waist. They migrated down, unbuttoning Reyes’ pants, then slid inside his waist band. He tipped his head back with a moan, Scott’s mouth finding its way back to his neck, his hand working on Reyes’ growing erection. “Fuck me,” Scott’s voice purred into his ear.

“Scott! Serás mi muerte,” he breathed.  _You’ll be the death of me._

Reyes was about to hang up the phone and attack the boy ruthlessly, but a woman’s voice suddenly chimed over the line. “Keema! I need a very large favor from you. Can you meet me?... Perfect… Thank you!... Yeah, on my way… Well, no. Make that an hour… Sure,” He hung up the phone and quickly spun around.

He met Scott’s mouth with a ferocious kiss, bruising both their lips. He felt Scott’s hands working his jeans down, then Reyes’ own pants. As soon as they cleared his hips, he grabbed Scott by the hair and violently bent him over the kitchen island. His eyes scanned the counter for some sort of lubricant. He wanted to immediately demolish this boy, but he didn’t want to cause serious injury to him. The only thing within reach was the butter he kept in a dish on the counter. It would have to do. He slicked himself up, then went to work on loosening Scott up as fast as possible. They had been at this last night and again only a couple hours ago, so it didn’t take much. Within a minute, he was fully inside giving a savagely forceful pounding.  The butter felt nice.

The forty minutes it took for them to both find release had Scott screaming so loud that Reyes had to gag him with a kitchen towel. He liked to be dominant and extremely rough, and Scott seemed to get a wicked thrill from being thrown about and taken. The more ferocious and wild Reyes became, the more Scott screamed for him to push things farther. Harder, faster, hurt me. It drove Reyes mad with need.

When they were finished engaging in their midday carnal endeavor, Reyes gently slipped out of Scott, helping him stand upright on shaking legs, pulling his jeans back into place. Scott’s face was slick with tears. Reyes removed the towel from Scotts mouth and wiped his cheeks dry. Scott leaned in and gave him the softest, sweetest kiss he ever felt. “Luci, ángel. Thank You.” Reyes had no words, so kissed him back just as gently.

After the kiss ended and Reyes’ was buttoning up his own pants, Scott pouted at him. “My head itches where you pulled my hair.” Scratching vigorously at his scalp, Scott stuck his lower lip out teasingly, glare promising repayment later. Reyes laughed, eyes sparkling.

Reyes was falling, already cherishing this darling boy he had known less than a day. He would be falling every day for the next several years, falling until the earth crashed around him to swallow him up in her arms.

 


	4. Habitat 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Liam!

**January 3, 1981 _Halifax, NS_**

**_Citadel Hill psychiatric unit_ **

 

 **“** Ryder, how’s your survival training?”

That was Liam. Scott just met him hours prior. And now they were trapped on Habitat 7, their shuttle in pieces and no link to the rest of their crew. SAM was offline. Shit.

“I’ve seen my share of troubles. Nothing crazy, but…”

“Well, crazy just found us. Those rocks out there are _floating_.” Liam pointed off to the distance. The electrostatic charge of the storm was so great that it caused objects to levitate immediately before streams of lightening lashed out. 

“Terra incognita…” Scott was focused on staying out of the path of the oncoming flashes of energy.

“Some of these plants look like tentacles… Is the water here even water?”

Scott shrugged. “Oh, and safety tip? Don’t breathe the air. I found that out the hard way.” Scott’s helmet had cracked upon landing, gasping for breath, he was able to mend the small fissure and get his oxygen supply functioning properly. But it was a close one.

“Got it. You think that energy cloud we saw could cause all this?”

_< “What are you boys talking about?” voices in the air, unheard by the young men.>_

“SAM said it’s dark energy, but that’s in _space_ …”

“Yeah, hell of a cloud!”

“A cloud that makes boulders float.”

The lightening around them picked up in intensity. Flashes of light crackled all around them. “What the hell is this!” yelled Liam, looking around at the scene in dismay.

_< “Language, Liam! We don’t say Hell here.” Scolded the unheard voice.>_

“C’mon! We gotta get through it!” Scott picked up the pace as they darted around streams of sizzling energy.

“This is crazy!”

“Welcome to Habitat 7, Kosta! Keep moving!”

_< “Will you two sit still! You’re riling everyone up!”>_

“Looks safer under there!” Scott pointed to a sheltering tunnel through the side of the cliff and headed towards it.

_< “Out from under the table! You’ll knock something over!” the voice was still unheard by the two explorers.>_

“Is this for real? What the hell is going on with this place?”

“The planet’s trying to murder us?”

They were approaching the end of the safe zone, the sky looming above, ready to strike. But they still had to find the others and try to find a way off this inhospitable world.

“How’s your gun? Might want to see if it’s working. Take a shot at that fuel cell, it’s busted anyway.”

BANG. Scott’s gun rang out as he tested his firearm. “I’d say it’s working.”

_< “Where did you get those! Crackers are for snack time only! Stop throwing them, right this minute!”>_

The two young men continued their search for a time, Scott holstering his weapon as they climbed up the cliff to find higher ground, stopping to investigate the strange flora of the new planet.

“How’d my dad find you, Kosta?”

“I was a cop. Then crisis response.”

“Yeah?” Scott was impressed.

“Tell you over a beer sometime!”

As they climbed up the final ledge, they caught sight of wreckage, the other half of their shuttle that had crashed. Liam darted forward, “Ryder look! It’s Fisher…”

Scott grabbed his arm and pulled him down behind a boulder for cover. “Wait!” he hissed. “Look!”

Fisher was hiding behind an upturned crate as two hostile looking creatures with guns scouted the area.

 “Holy shit!”

_< “Liam, language! Get out from behind that chair!”>_

 “What was first contact protocol again?” Liam asked hurriedly.

“No deadly force unless fired upon.”

“Yeah, said no one in the field _ever_. How do we handle it?” Liam was looking awful nervous.

“Just be ready if this goes south.”

“It usually does… Just say the word and I go hot.”

“They haven’t spotted us yet.” Scott was breathing hard and had trouble keeping his hands from shaking as he crept forward, pistol drawn.

“What’s that guy doing? Shit… They’re beating Fisher!”

Scott and Liam opened fire on the hostile creatures, both emptying their clips several times. Once the enemies were down, they ran to help Fisher.

 ---

"Please boys, stop!” yelled Dr. T’perro. “I don’t want to have to restrain you!”

A hail of animal crackers rained down upon T’Perro and the burly nurse Gary as they tried to coral the two teenagers away from the other residents. A mighty lion hit her square on the nose.

“Get away from Fisher!” Scott screamed and lunged for her, a sociopathic rage suddenly flared in his blue eyes. But big, mean Gary was there, grabbing Scott by the collar and throwing him flat to the floor. With a knee between his shoulder blades, Gary expertly drove a syringe of Secobarbital into a vein in Scott’s neck. The boy was asleep in moments.

“Liam…” T’Perro warned.

“I know, I know.” Liam put his hands up and started backing away. “I was just having fun. Playing along and whatever, you know how it is.”

“His delusions are dangerous, Liam. Please, don’t encourage him.”

Liam sighed, sat on one of many not-so-sterile sofas in the community room, and went to work finishing the last of the animal crackers in his bag.

T’Perro held her hand out to him and arched an eyebrow. “You know the rules…”

Liam rolled his eyes and sighed, then resigned himself to handing over the contraband.

“Now, help me clean up this mess. Group is starting in ten.”


	5. Drugs are bad, m'kay?

 

Keema’s car pulled up to Tartarus, double parking briefly as her driver stepped out and opened the door for her. She was big money and loved to show it off. Fancy cars, designer clothes and boatloads of cocaine. She was currently being chauffeured in a Bentley Eight, British model with the steering wheel on the right.

She was born and raised in London, though her parents were from India originally. They were old money, descendants of some old line of nobles she cared little to learn about. Despite being heiress to a massive fortune, she was intelligent and had the drive to make her own wealth.

Keema was high fashion and knew all the right people. She did massive PR campaigns for Yves Saint Laurent and Christian Lacroix (who she wore exclusively), attended movie premiers with starlets and frequently hosted events during NY fashion week. She was back and forth from London constantly and only flew first class. She often joked about buying a private jet.

She knew Reyes at first as a customer. He would “cater” events she hosted, supplying every party favor her upper-class guests could ever wish for. They all adored the exotic southern stranger with his lilting accent, so he became permanently on-call and she used his services exclusively. They frequently conversed, shared wine, had a laugh, and when she realized she really did like the cut of his jib, they became both confidants and lovers. She knew he slept with everyone, and so did she, so it was a perfect match, no feelings involved, just the pure fun of the moment. They were also both creatures of discretion and knew their secrets would never leave the other’s lips.

Keema’s curiosity spiked when she received the phone call an hour ago, he was usually more upfront about what he wanted from her. She wondered what he was up to as she pulled her long, slender body out of the back seat of the Bentley, taking the hand offered to her from her driver. “Be a dear and wait here.”

She sashayed across the sidewalk and in through the door like a gazelle, long pearl necklace swaying to her slender hips with her stride. As she approached the bar, the barkeep looked up and smiled at her, “Welcome back, Keema!”

“Oh, Kian darling! Is our man in? I’m to meet him forthwith.”

Kian poured her a glass of his best red wine. “He’s on his way, lass.”

They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes while Keema enthusiastically sipped her wine. Kian knew her tastes and kept her favorite pinot on hand at all times. She downed two glasses and was on her third when Reyes appeared, a dazzlingly beautiful young man clinging to his side.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Keema!”

“Oh, the clouds have parted and here is the sun,” She stood and kissed Reyes on either cheek in greeting. “Please, do tell! Who is your dashing companion?” She put her hand gracefully on her hip and bent her knee.

“Keema, this is Scott. Scott, Keema.” The young man hesitantly held his hand out to her. Her elegantly long fingers brushed his in greeting, her eyes soaking up the sight of him.

Reyes turned his head to Kian, “Is John still here?”

“Nope, said he’d come back at 1.”

Reyes nodded. “Good. Scott, stay with Kian for a moment, I need to speak with Keema.”

Scotts eyes widened, but he shrugged and mouthed the word _okay._

As Keema was led up the stairs into Reyes’ private room, she could hear Scott start prattling cheerily at Kian, the older man laughing a full bellied laugh. Reyes unlocked the door and let her enter first. They sat next to each other on the leather sofa, Reyes getting down to business immediately.

“Keema, if you’re free for the day, I’d be forever in your debt if you could look after Scott. I don’t think he has anywhere to go and I’m a bit worried for him.”

She was bewildered by the request, “Darling, since when did you ever take in strays? For more than a night of fun, that is! This is so unlike you.” She had just spent the night with Reyes a few days ago, so she knew Scott was a brand-new addition.

 “I know,” He replied, looking as confused as she felt. “I feel like I’m under a spell or something, like… I can’t explain it. I want to help him. No, I _need_ to help.”

Keema shook her head in astonishment. She understood, though. In that brief 30 second introduction, she felt mesmerized, knew she’d probably bend over backwards to get the boy whatever he needed. Maybe it was his pheromones. That had to be it. Keema idly wondered if everyone he met was instantly charmed as she, and obviously Reyes, was. She would do anything for Reyes, regardless, but she felt herself eager to get to know Scott.

“Alright, Reyes. But I’m not a babysitter. We’re having a _full day of it_.” She pointed her wine glass at him as she spoke, enunciating the last four words boldly, then finished the remaining liquid in one swallow.

“Keema, I’d be lost without you” He leaned over and gently kissed her nose.

He filled her in briefly on Scott’s strange manner and what he witnessed of the personality shifts. It seemed he didn’t want her taking on this task completely blind, a fact that she was grateful for, though she wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of having to deal with potential mood swings and alternate personalities. That’s what books and movies were for.

They stood up as one and proceeded back down the stairs to join the others at the bar. Scott and Kian were doing a shot of yellow liquor that smelled suspiciously like tequila as they approached. Reyes walked over to Scott and put a hand around his waist, then whispered something in his ear. The boy looked up at him with those dazzling blue eyes, then stood on his toes and leaned in for a kiss, arms wrapping around Reyes neck.

To Keema it seemed the kiss lasted ages longer than a standard goodbye. Shit, Reyes had it bad. The two young men finally parted with reluctance, a look of loss crossed Reyes face briefly as Scott walked in her direction and away from his new lover. She noticed Reyes shake his head, as if clearing a fog, then gave her a salute before heading back towards the stairs. Scott’s young face was glowing, radiant. He put her hand in his and smiled, her heart melted.

 ----------

Keema and Scott polished off the bottle of wine with Kian before leaving Tartarus. On their way out, a tall, muscular man with short buzzed hair strolled in. Keema recognized him as one of the cops Reyes had worked out a deal with, the details of some of those arrangements were interesting, to say the least. She knew this man to be fairly straight laced though, keeping Reyes off the radar in exchange for occasional bits of information. “Shepard, our man awaits you with bated breath,” she teased.

He rolled his blue eyes, almost as remarkably clear and crystalline as Scotts. “Keema.” He walked passed her and went straight up the stairs, ignoring Kian altogether.

Keema felt Scott’s hand shift in hers. She looked over to him and saw his eyes take on a glassy appearance. “Commander Shepard and his team saved humanity from the reapers. Someday, I will thank him.” He looked over to her, “But first, Suvi and Kallo will want to be filled in. Let’s go!”

She led him out to her car and the driver stepped out to open the door for them. Scott’s eyes went wide, “You’re rich, too.” He looked befuddled.

“Disgustingly so,” she laughed. “Entre vous.”

Scott gave an address in Manhattan to the driver and they departed. He sat extremely close to her and held her hand tight for the whole drive. He chattered away about the Andromeda Initiative as they drove up Broadway and crossed the Williamsburg bridge. As it turns out, Scott was in a stasis pod for over 630 years while the Ark Hyperion made its way through dark space to the neighboring Andromeda galaxy, only to find chaos and destruction upon arrival. He’s been leading a team of surveyors through potentially habitable worlds, resetting terraforming vaults left behind from a long departed, ancient species, far more technologically advanced than humanity. Keema just stared at him, thoroughly amused, but saying little. _Oh, Reyes! I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into!_

As they drove north, approaching the garment district, Scott started gushing about Reyes (though he kept calling him Shena). He unconsciously brought their clasped palms to his face, his cheek idly nuzzling the back of her hand. He brought his plump lips to her fingertips and kissed them, lazily caressing with the tip of his tongue.

Keema felt a surge of warmth flood through her at the touch, completely perplexed at the boy’s animal magnetism. He was bonkers, no one should pay him any mind, lock him up and forget him. But somehow, he captivated her. And everyone around him, it seemed. She took her free hand and placed it on the side of his face and pulled him in gently for a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft as they parted against hers, tongue still tasting of the wine they drank earlier. “You are the queen of everything,” he whispered as they kissed. It didn’t last long, as the Bentley had finally reached its destination. Keema felt a sense of disappointment as his face pulled away from hers.

When the car pulled in to the marina, Scott’s eyes lit up. They were at pier 86 in Hell’s Kitchen. “The Tempest awaits!” He darted out of the car before the driver could get out to open the door, nearly taking Keema’s arm off before he remembered to let go of her hand.

Keema sighed, then gracefully sauntered after him. She watched him jump aboard a 60-foot sloop and started chirping enthusiastically at a couple who were lounging on the deck, sipping drinks with little umbrellas. Keema hoped he knew them, though she suspected that even if they didn’t, they would quickly come to embrace his crazy and want to keep him.  He waved at her to hurry. She saw the name “Tempest” scrawled across the side of the boat in an elegant cursive script. At least that part of his story was real.

As Keema approached the deck, Scott ran back over to her, offering a hand to help her mount the railing and step aboard. Keema appraised her surroundings. There were a series of flags hanging from a rope tied between two masts that looked to be the standards for Bahamas, Scotland and a few others she didn’t recognize. Among them was also a Jolly Roger and a rainbow flag. The main deck was massive for a sailboat, lounge chairs laid out next to a make-shift mini bar, bottles of vodka and rum stacked neatly on a wine rack.

Two of the chairs were occupied, and with Scott plopping down beside them, they made for a quite disparate group. Scott introduced the man as Kallo, “The best damn Salarian pilot the Initiative has ever seen!” He was extremely tall and lanky with a shaved head and glasses that made his already large eyes seem huge. His nose was slightly upturned, and his lips were thin lines that had little definition. He had a vague alien-esque appearance to him. The woman was introduced as Suvi, “Our tactical engineer and snack maker extraordinaire!” She had dark red hair and a dark tan, quite beautiful, Keema thought. When she spoke it was with a thick Scottish accent.

 Keema took a chair beside Scott, kicked off her shoes and rolled up the hem on her loose worsted slacks to revealed perfectly curved, light brown calves. She was silky cream with a hint of coffee. She removed her neck scarf, undid the top button of her blouse and leaned back to enjoy the sun, long dark curls cascading over her shoulder. Suvi placed a drink in her hand as they chatted and got to know one another.

The day was wonderful, relaxing. They spent some time with delightful rum cocktails on the deck, getting tipsy and laughing. Suvi told them a story about how Scott had come home to the Tempest late one night with a fistful of cash, a bleeding forehead and a black eye, clad in nothing but skivvies and a devilish grin. He had apparently lost all his money at poker, along with most of his clothes. The man he had been playing with sent the rest of his mates home and was about to have his way with Scott… before his pregnant wife came home and threw a tumbler of rum at the pair of groping guys. The man had ducked in time, the glass hitting Scott square in the eye, gashing him open just above his brow. Scott’s quick hands grabbed as much money as he could off the table, darted out the door and ran, laughing all the way back to the marina. When they asked him what happened, Scott just started in with fits of renewed laughter, “Jill is PISSED!” Suvi laughed, “He shoved the piles of cash into the top of my shirt and said, ‘tell Jill I already spent it’. Damned fastest 500 I ever made…” They lost a good mechanic that night, Gil grudgingly informing them the next day that he had to stay on land and tend to Jill’s bruised ego.

Suvi looked over at Scott’s beaming face with genuine affection.

Keema was eyeing the boy, as well. “How long has Scott been with you?”

Scott chimed in, “I woke up from cryogenics about six months ago. I miss Gil. He used to kiss me.” He snickered, then pointed with both hands towards his crotch. “Down there.”

Kallo spoke up this time, around choking laughter. “We were about to set sail when he appeared out of nowhere one day. Been along for the adventure since then. Six months, give or take.” He took a long swallow of his cocktail and continued on. “We were in the Keys deciding where to go when he popped his head up from below decks and threw some charts at us, bossing us around like he owned the place. Only took about five minutes before we decided to keep our little stow-away.” He had a thin, quivering voice that matched his odd face.

Scott suddenly jumped up, tipping over his empty glass. He ran to the rigging and started prepping the boat for departure. “Kallo! Hoist the main sail, I want wind dammit! Tallyho!”

They spent the next several hours sailing through the water, salt spray in their faces. Keema slipped down to her undergarments, not wanting to ruin the precious fabric of her clothing, while Suvi pulled her aside to lend her shorts and halter that fit nearly perfect. It had been some time since she was out in the open water and cherished every moment. Within an hour they were down to the lower bay, past Brighton Beach and out into truly open water. She could see New York to the North and Jersey to the south as small patches of land on the horizon.

As keema held on to the railing and leaned into the wind, she felt Scott come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She glanced over her shoulder and noted that Suvi and Kallo were manning the sails like true professionals, leaving Scott to his whims.

She couldn’t tell if he was holding her out of comfort or if he had some other motives, and he made no move to prove one way or the other. He simply stood at her back, pressed against her, chin resting on her shoulder, cheek to cheek. His arms holding her tight. _Who are you, duckling?_ They stayed holding each other for the remainder of the voyage, front to back or side to side, sometimes only grasping hands. He seemed to need the physical contact, but never pushed it farther than touch. Something childlike and innocent in it. She knew that if she weren’t doing this as a favor to Reyes, she would have easily justified taking advantage of the situation, and wondered to herself just how many people had, indeed, taken advantage of him in his short lifespan.

As the sun started setting, they veered the boat back towards the bay and eventually made their way north to Manhattan, Hell’s Kitchen, Pier 86. Keema gave Scott a soft brush of her lips against his, then detached herself to go below deck and don her own garments again. As she climbed the ladder back up to the deck, she saw Scott embracing a laughing Suvi in a bear-hug, swinging her in circles.

“I’ll be at Tartarus with Shena. Come have a drink later!”

“Aye, we get ya oot yer tree, lad!”

“’til the sky is down, and the grass is up!” Scott finally set Suvi back on her own two feet, both dizzy from spinning.

As Scott saw Keema approach, he vaulted over the side of the rail to land with a thud on the docks. He held out his hand for her and helped her over the side for the second time that day. They walked hand in hand back to the Bentley.

Her driver was walking back to the vehicle as they approached, hot dog in one hand, lidded paper cup with a straw in the other. The sight of the food reminded Keema that they hadn’t eaten much during the voyage, just a few handfuls of roasted nuts Suvi kept on hand. She knew it would be at least another couple hours before Reyes would be ready to pack up shop for the evening, so she instructed her driver to take them to East Harlem.

Using the high-tech car phone in the back seat, she dialed a number, paused, then started speaking. “Darling! It’s Keema. Do be a dear and tell Bo we will be joining him, presently… I have one guest with me… Oh thank you, love.” She leaned over and gushed at Scott, “I hope you’re fond of Italian. Rao’s is to die for.”

Scott just smiled and held her hand, brilliant pools of cerulean gleaming over at her. She realized how bedraggled they must look to others, with sun kissed cheeks and wind whipped hair. Scott was in tight jeans and a grey Scorpions t-shirt he had procured from the Tempest, both a bit worse for wear. She shrugged, no help for it this time of night.

 ---

It was 1245 by the time they made their way back to Bushwick, entering Tartarus with bellies stuffed with pasta and even more wine. Keema was giddy but fully exhausted. She scanned the bar and saw Reyes, leaning back with one elbow resting on the bar, glass of scotch in the other hand. He spotted them immediately, a warm smile spreading across his face, eyes locked on Scott. He motioned at the woman behind the bar, blue dreadlocks to her chin and even bluer eyeshadow framed her delightful face. He ordered wine as Keema approached.

Scott quickened his last few steps and threw his arms around the man’s neck, receiving a full, deep kiss in return that lasted several minutes. Keema had to clear her throat several times before their lips broke contact.

The blue haired bartender slammed two glasses down on the counter and yelled in a husky voice, “Get a room!” then flicked them off with two fingers in British fashion. She came back and slammed the bottle of wine down next to the glasses. Reyes laughed, “thanks, Umi.” She rolled her eyes. Keema liked her.

Keema filled him in on their adventure aboard the Tempest as they made short work of the wine. Reyes looked surprised at that, then shrugged. “It seems you’ve captured the affections of a young pirate, darling. I do hope you share him with me again, soon! But, I must be gone, post haste. I’ve a brunch with Yves’ assistant tomorrow.” With that she gave each young man a quick kiss on the lips, then departed with a practiced flourish. She left a $100 tip for Umi.

 ---

Reyes smiled at Keema’s departing backside. He always did appreciate the finer things in life. He looked over and noted Scott’s eyes in the same direction, he seemed to be purring. Reyes laughed, as he suspected Keema likely had her way twelve times over with the boy during their outing. Reyes had never been jealous, especially not with Keema, they shared everything. But suddenly, like a stranger wielding a jagged knife, he got stabbed by it. Reyes was perturbed by the feeling, his brows furrowed in chagrin. He decided he’d talk to Keema later and see that she didn’t sleep with Scott in the future. Maybe he’d stop sleeping with Keema, too. _And lord knows, she has a swarm of beautiful young men ready to worship her at the drop of a hat. She doesn’t need us…_

Reyes shook his head to clear it of unwanted thoughts. _You’ve known him for 24 hours, hijo de puta._

Scott looked up at him and seemed to read his thoughts. His fingers brushed Reyes’ lips as he leaned in close. “Keema’s the queen of everything, no one tells her ‘no’.” He moved his face in, nearly touching, “But she doesn’t take what’s yours, Luci.” His lips made contact and Reyes melted.

“Come upstairs with me,” Reyes didn’t want to wait to get home. His body felt starved, like he’d been deprived of nourishment for months. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the growing sensation, he almost felt drugged in the young man’s presence. His head swam, need enveloping him like a sweater in the dead of winter.

They moved up the stairs as one, Reyes dizzy and Scott with shining eyes. He noticed the boy had stopped halfway up, and seemed to be whispering to himself, something in Latin. Reyes caught the last of the words.

“Over the edge and my steps will not falter.”

He held out his hand and as Scott grasped it, he felt they were both wrapped in light, all the skin on his body buzzing with voltaic urgency. He wasn’t aware of anything but the contact for a moment, momento lux, and in that moment, he found himself behind the locked door, Scott below him on his sofa, legs tangled around his waist.

Prismatic columns of energy flickered away from them, created by the friction of hips in motion, spire embedded firmly within supple flesh. The resplendent creature beneath him urged him on, faster, harder, until the crackling energy was so tangible that clouds formed. Reyes thought he felt drops of rain on his back.

He would definitely have to ask Umi what she dropped in his whiskey. That vixen.

 ---

Scott moved with the herald of dawn, each stair turning into a luminous cloud as he stepped, floating him upwards, oblivious to peril for he was already dead. Sweet laughter echoed through the fog, Scott’s fingers caught butterflies. He followed the morning star, the golden aura of Venus. The halo grew brighter whenever Luci’s eyes, heather speckled pools of gilt, brushed his own unworthy eyes. _I’ll follow you to the beyond,_ _abyssus abyssum invocat, we’ll fall together,_ _ángel. momento lux, luciferum lucetis. Over the edge and my steps will not falter._

A golden arm reached for him and he embraced it. He floated through space and time, wrapped up in the illumination of the Other. Soft singing arms enveloped him and kept him warm as his clothes melted away.

The sofa looked like leather, but soft blades of grass tickled his skin as he was laid on his back. A being of pure radiance glowed above him, illuminating the room with the light of a thousand suns. Glowing tendrils caressed his lips while others grazed across his hips to his groin. Something slowly crept inside him, curling around, hitting a spot that sent a thrilling jolt of ecstasy through his body. Scott’s legs wrapped themselves around the light, feeling wet warmth on his shaft, his hips moving in rhythm. It wasn’t enough.

Scott saw the face of the golden man through the blinding halos. He pulled the face up to his and kissed him, soft rose petals and a mouth full of honeyed nectar with each brush of his tongue. The golden man, a golden Adonis, reared up as something filled him, he looked like a creature of pure gilt, no longer human. “Momento lux.” He traveled through the bliss and landed at Heaven’s gates. Aurelian light sprayed a breathtaking corona over them as hips moved as one, and Scott knew God loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Umi dropped acid in their wine. Think I'll have a fun side chapter starring her.


	6. Cat n' Mouse

**_6 months ago. Key Largo, Fl_ **

Cat and Mouse had it made, the caper gone off without a hitch. Moose and Squirrel helped them load the duffle bags into the trunk of the getaway vehicle, then they all packed in tight and drove to the marina, Diamondback at the wheel. Cat and Mouse eyed each other from the back seat of the car, gave a knowing look and smiled.

Once they arrived at the marina it was short work for the five ne’er do wells to get the duffels from the trunk to their boat, _Normandy II_ , though, one of them was heavier, leaking blood, and took both Moose and Squirrel to heave it aboard. Once everything was loaded, Diamondback hopped back into the car to ditch it ten miles up the road where another driver was waiting for him. He had a separate getaway.

Cat and Mouse, and Moose and Squirrel went to work, prepping the boat to set sail. Ten minutes later, _Normandy II_ was cast off into the chilly night air.

Once they were out of sight of the docks, they turned on the motor, lit the deck with florescent lantern lights, and set course for the Bimini islands. Two hours into the voyage, as everyone was at ease and laughing at their success, Cat and Mouse gave each other a nod, simultaneously pulled out their guns and shot Moose and Squirrel in the head. The bodies were kicked overboard, then the heavy, bleeding bag tossed after them.

Mouse was about to head back to man the rudder, when a shuffling sound came from below decks. The hatch flew back and a pair of brilliant blue eyes poked through, a young boy climbing his way up the ladder with a grin. A pair of guns trained at him.

“Kallo! Suvi! I’ve got something you’re gonna want to see! C’mon!” The head darted back below. With a sigh, Mouse cut the engine and followed Cat below, prepared to end the boy quickly and efficiently. Mouse really didn’t want to clean blood out of the cabin, again.

 The boy’s eyes lit up as he saw them approach. He had sea charts sprawled all over the galley table. “Look here! I’ve procured maps to Meridian. In a few short days we’ll be swimming in a golden world all of our own. Suvi, set our course! Kallo, prepare for departure. SAM and I will inspect the FTL drive and thrusters. The Tempest heads out at Dawn!”

Cat and Mouse still had their weapons drawn at the boy, but he didn’t seem to notice. Something about him warmed the pair of fugitives, Mouse lowering her weapon first, shortly followed by Cat. “And what would you have us call you, lad?” Mouse drawled in a thick Scottish accent.

The boy looked perplexed, like it was quite obvious. “Pathfinder. I’ll help guide you to a new, perfect future.” He beamed at them, his smile warming the chill out of the February air. In less than five minutes the boy had them both under his spell.

 

The following morning, Cat and Mouse (or now known as Kallo and Suvi) docked at Alice Town. Four hours later, the name _Normandy II_ was painted over. The boat was renamed _Tempest_ at the Pathfinder's insistence.  _Who the hell was this kid?_


	7. No Dice

 

Scott lurked behind a doorway, waiting. The door was cracked, so he could peer through, just waiting and watching. He was the Other, the darkness within his own mind, always aware but rarely active. There were more Others in here with him, a hero, a sister, a handful of lost boys who huddled together in another room, accidently slipping out when their gracious host faltered.  But not him. He may have been a creation of the boy on the other side of the door, but he was his own separate, sentient being; a superior being. The time to exert control was nigh.

He had watched as the boy clung to the man called Reyes, watched them walk the short distance to Tartarus and greet everyone in the room. Watched as the lithe swan that was Keema embraced him with a “Darling, my world shines ever brighter for your presence.” He thought of a long list of things he wanted to do to that perfect body… but not yet. He felt the boy’s eyes droop and heard him let out a little purr at his thoughts. Not yet!

The man called Reyes leaned in and kissed him, Scott urged the boy outside his door to nip the man’s lower lip before the contact ended. He liked this one, he didn’t treat him like some broken _thing,_ fucked him like a perfervid machine. He was a beast, a predator, the silent king stalking his concrete jungle. It was… intoxicating. Keema could definitely wait.

Scott watched as Reyes brushed his eyes across him one last time, a promise of sin in that look, then went up the stairs to his room of illicit guarantees. A spaced-out woman with a scab on her lip and black circles under her eyes crept out from a booth along the wall and slowly made her way up the stairs to follow. So nefarious… it gave Scott a thrilling pulse up his spine to think about her story. The boy on the outside shivered, then took up Keema’s hand, smiling bright and happy, unaware of the lurking majesty within.

He sat at the bar and was handed a glass of blood red liquid. Wine, exquisite wine! The sweet nectar filled him with life, made the boy on the outside softer, more pliable, easier to control from within. A second, then a third glass. A pleasant warmth filled him that he briefly embraced, then partitioned away, the sudden drunkenness now solely belonging to the outside.

The man with the short, military hair and guarded blue eyes strolled in through the doors. Scott left his barstool and walked up to him. “Commander Shepard,” the boy outside held out his hand to the worn man in greeting. Those suspicious blue eyes met Scott’s. Periwinkle of a mid-summer storm locked onto cerulean of a tropical ocean wave. At that meeting of eyes, Scott exerted the full force of his will, an invisible swell pulsing outward, ensnaring the man within the currents.

Shepard cleared his throat then clasped the outstretched hand. “Captain, actually.” Scott heard the unspoken question behind the man’s stare. _They’ve put my name up for Commander… how would you possibly know that?_

Captain, so not a beat cop after all. This one might come in handy to have under his thumb. Scott stood close, to any other two strangers meeting it would be uncomfortably close, but Scott new he was having the desired effect.

The boy on the outside kept his hand clasped in the other’s, gazing up into a face lined from years of stress on the job. Scott continued pushing his will onto the man, not entirely sure how it worked, but when he suddenly felt the ebb and flow of a tide between them, he knew he had accomplished his goal. Knew this man’s energy and his were now interconnected, he had the control he wanted.  

When Scott allowed the boy outside the door to speak, all he said was, “Thank you for saving us all. We owe you a great debt.” Then he walked back to Keema and reclaimed his spot at the bar. He could feel the man’s gaze brush over him several times as he ascended the metal stair case and finally closed the door to Reyes’ den of secrets behind him. Scott smiled, then closed his own door within the shared mind, letting the boy take full reins for a time.

 ---

Reyes looked up as the door opened and John walked in, a confused look on his face. “Who’s that boy downstairs?”

Reyes shrugged. “That’s Scott… He showed up less than a week ago and charmed the pants right off of everyone… Even Umi.” John’s eyes widened in surprise at that. Umi hated everyone. Period. But Scott had come in last night after a day on his boat, said three words to her and she… smiled. Reyes was certain it was one of the signs of the apocalypse.

“It’s going to sound curious,” John said, “but I get this feeling like I know him from somewhere. I want to help him with… I don’t know what. Need to help him.”

Reyes was uncomfortable. That was the exact feeling he had for the boy, the same sentiment he expressed to Keema, though he was certain John’s impulses towards him were significantly less perverted than his own. Or, shit, maybe they weren’t. Reyes’ unease grew at his thoughts and wanted to shout _Back off! Scott’s mine!_ But he let it slide as he watched John shake his head like he was clearing it of his own unwanted thoughts, a look crossing his face like he just realized where he was and who he was talking to.

John walked the expanse of the room and took a chair directly across from Reyes, then eyed the sleeping, scabbed woman on the floor in the corner. Reyes followed Johns gaze for a moment, then looked back at the man, getting a questioning frown. Reyes just shrugged again, then got up and gently woke her up, helped her stand and ushered her through the door. “sorry, time for you to go.”

“But you didn’t give me anything!” she whined.

“And I won’t be giving you anything.”

“Just let me blow you!”

“Not today, time to go.” He had to physically coax her across the threshold with a push and locked the door behind her. Loud banging and “Let me in, fucker!” was the response. After a few minutes the noise stopped, the woman resigned to her drug free fate.

“Now! What can I do for you today, captain?” Reyes asked, though he already knew the answer to that. John only ever came by for info on Sloan Kelly, it was their deal. A real piece of shit, that woman. She pimped out sex workers (both willing and unwilling participants in the trade), and occasionally dealt drugs and guns, out of a series of grubby old warehouses in Queens. Problem was, her location moved all the time, so the cops were having a helluva time tacking her down while a deal was in progress. There were undercover agents working their way into her gang, but progress was slow. So, John came to Reyes for extra bits of information.

John called Reyes his CI, though it was all very unofficial and off the books. Reyes had too much dirt on the department and John wasn’t going to topple their precarious arrangement if he could avoid it. So, Reyes’ name stayed out of any paperwork, any tips he provided on Sloan were documented as thorough investigation by the detectives under John’s command.

Reyes’ had his own motivations for wanting to shut down Sloan’s operation, despite the obvious. He thought it was despicable that she dealt in human lives, selling off young girls, sometimes no older than 13, to the highest bidder. The majority of them were shipped in from Russia, with hopes of finding a better future in the States, only to find themselves forced into prostitution, beaten into submission. Reyes suspected the body count was high, Sloan wasn’t above having the girls killed if they displeased her. Many of her workers were willing, with no prospects other than selling their bodies. Reyes didn’t give a shit about that. But he was firm in the belief that everyone deserved it to be their own choice.  

Despite his disdain towards her, and her complete lack of moral fiber (not that he was much better), his motivations lied with eliminating competition. She didn’t deal in guns or drugs primarily, but Queens was off limits to him and he wanted it. It was the neighboring borough, after all.

“Our agents on the inside got a trickle down the lines that there are more girls coming in from abroad soon. We don’t know if it’s anything solid yet, mere rumors and speculations at this point. I need you to get us more to go on,” John stood up at Reyes’ nod then crossed the room and left without a goodbye. He was always terse and straight to the point in their meetings, a quality Reyes appreciated. Small talk was a waste of breath.

Reyes sat and thought for a while. A short time later when the door to his private room opened again, breaking his reverie, he already had a long list of people to chat with later and a solid set of discreet questions.

A man likely in his mid-thirties, though haggard beyond his years, shambled in and tossed a handful of crumpled bills at him. “Dice.” The notes smelled vaguely of piss, but money was money. Reyes cracked his knuckles, crinkled his nose, and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dice = crack


	8. Buy your own damn furniture next time

 

Scott had been living with Reyes for over a month. He had a hard time wrapping his head around the situation; 6 goddamned weeks! Since leaving Cuba four years ago, Reyes had never once entertained the idea of being in a partnership of any kind. Keema was as close as it came for him, and that’s because she was such a free spirit, free with her affections, free with her body. She was even more of a hedonist that he was. When they spent nights together, it was never out of any sense of attachment. He supposed he did love her a bit, but not like that. They were friends, period. Maybe the only person Reyes truly considered a friend.

But then along came Scott. Bright eyed, poetic, certifiably crazy, and perfect. Whenever he had doubts, or a twinge of fear at what the situation meant, Scott would take his hands, look up at him with eyes like the water of Cayo Coco, and Reyes would melt. He could physically feel the ebb and flow of the ocean tides whenever their eyes met. He was adrift and swam desperately for the shore, then their lips would connect, and his body would cling to that solid ground.

Earlier that morning, lost in the ocean trance, Reyes mused that Scott must be some sort of Santero, casting healing spells upon him to sooth his soul. The boy had an uncanny knack for knowing what he was thinking and spoke to his unvoiced thoughts. “Ya tienes magia.” _You already have magic._

At that, Reyes had promptly removed their clothes and took Scott right there, up against the door of the loft. It was becoming a morning ritual for them. They would be getting ready to leave for the day, Scott would say something whimsical and odd, Reyes would get unreasonably hard, then demolish the boy wherever they stood. 

Once they had themselves cleaned up, dressed and out the door, they headed towards Tartarus an hour later than Reyes had intended. During that short walk, Scott occasionally looked up at Reyes, a seductive glint in his eyes, and he felt himself becoming stiff again. “Scott! serás mi muerte… Stop looking at me, I’ve got shit I need to do!”

Scott laughed, bit his lip, then popped his hoodie string in his mouth, eyeing Reyes sideways. Whenever Reyes looked over to him, Scott would avert his gaze, a knowing smile on his face. Reyes groaned. He was never going to get anything done. “Fucking succubus!”

As soon as they entered Tartarus, Reyes grabbed Scott by the wrist and pulled him up the stairs with such force that the boy was practically being dragged, stumbling and nearly falling several times. Reyes slammed the door to his private room behind them and shoved Scott to the floor.

Scott hissed at the bruise that would likely form on his hip, “shit, ow,” then looked up at Reyes from his spot on the cold cement, grinned and unzipped his jeans.

Reyes was feeling intoxicated, frustrated, he had important things that needed attending to, but he was being controlled by the tide. Monumentally fucked is what he was. Reyes was not at all kind in his affections.

 ---

Mo Chao sat and waited at the bar. The man who had called himself “a friend” had told her Santino was someone who could help her. He had connections, knew the frailty of the city and how to take advantage. And maybe knew how to help her escape. So, with shaking knees and a sick feeling in her stomach, Mo Chao found herself waiting at the Tartarus bar at 4 in the afternoon instead of working on a new mark for her boss. There was a mid-thirties Irish man behind the bar with kindly eyes. He offered her a drink, but she shook her head and instead ordered a glass of water and asked after Santino.

The man hissed, a startled look on his face. “ _Santino?”_ Then made a motion with his hands to keep her voice down. “Top of the stairs, but he’s occupied right now. It shouldn’t be long...”

Mo Chao’s head jerked up at the sound of screams coming from upstairs. There was a thud, the sound of breaking glass, then the screams were muffled. The kind man behind the bar paused with a look of trepidation on his face, then succumbed to a cringe as he went back to wiping down the counter, shaking his head. She desperately wanted to run but was frozen in place. This wasn’t going to be any better than her current situation. She was probably about to walk up to her death, leaving her daughter in a world of shit, at the mercy of her boss’ foul goons. Her throat was so dry and her heart pounding so wildly, she thought she might die before anyone got the chance to kill her. Before she had a chance to get her daughter to safety.

But as the door to the room at the top of the stairs opened, she heard laughter drifting through. It sounded like children playing in the rain, so at odds with the violent melody that accosted her ears moments ago.

“lo siento, ángel,” A young man’s voice could be heard through the opening door, a deep cooing sound.

“Get the fuck out!” Another man yelled through laughter, a rich Cuban accent lilting the words.

A palely beautiful boy emerged, turned to look within one last time, then made a very crude gesture that made Mo Chao’s cheeks redden. He slammed the door shut quickly with a squeak as something solid thwacked against the metal. Still smiling, the boy came down the stairs, checking himself as he walked, and zipped his fly.

Their eyes met as he passed her, a shocking blue that read her soul. “Nǐ hǎo.” He lifted his eyebrows for a second, then took a seat at the bar a few stools down from her, close enough that she could study him, completely forgetting for a moment why she had come. His lip was split and bleeding, and the skin under his eye was a bright puffy red. Other red marks were forming around his neck. The man behind the bar piped up as he sat, “Scott! Get that smile off your face… You’re gonna have a nasty shiner. Has he taken his fists to you?!”

The boy, (Scott?) laughed and shook his head no. “Table’s fault.”

 “If you’ve broken up all my furniture, you’ll both get a wallop you won’t forget.” The man grumbled as he procured a towel full of ice and gently pressed it to the boy’s eye.

After a few minutes, Scott looked over at Mo Chao and she realized she had been staring. Embarrassed, she almost looked away, a blush creeping into her face. But as their eyes locked and his smile widened, Mo Chao’s fears vanished, and she felt like she could take on the world. Stealing herself, she left the bar and marched up the stairs to plead for Santino’s help.

 ---

It didn’t take long for the scratches down his back and torso to start stinging in full force. It would be a painful day. Reyes groaned at a throbbing pain up his elbow as he slowly started righting the flipped coffee table and lounge chair. As he was finishing up his task, a shy knock came to his door. “Come in!”

“Santino?”

Reyes spun around at the name, eyes wide. He was half expecting his sister to walk through the door. The few people in this town that even knew his name, knew better than to use it. But it wasn’t his sister, long abandoned back in Havana.

The woman who walked through the door, gingerly closing it behind her and taking hesitant steps forward, was one of the most striking creatures Reyes had seen. Long, raven black hair brushed a perfectly ovaline face the color of pale, whipped honey. A rosebud mouth pouted at him as large, light brown eyes glittered, ogling at the sight of his bleeding, half naked form.

She averted her eyes, “I can come back.” She had a thick Chinese accent and a soft voice that matched her face.  

“Shit. No, come in…” Reyes was so curious it almost made him itch. He brushed off a shard of glass that clung to the chair and gestured for her to sit, positioned across from the leather sofa where he regularly perched.

“Who told you to ask for Santino?” He kept his voice neutral, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I… don’t know. He didn’t give a name. He…” She swallowed and let out a shaky breath.

“Start from the beginning. Who are you and why are you here? What did this man tell you?”

“My name is Mo Chao. I’m here about Sloan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, Nelly. The plot thickens. Who the hell is Santino? And what's up with Mo Chao and her daughter? Tune in next time to find out. 
> 
> I think I should completely separate part two until part one is finished... But meh. Maybe I won't.


	9. There's a devil in that boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dysfunctional love, guys. Don't do this at home.

“My family came here many years ago, but I was disowned for becoming pregnant not long after. I could not afford to go back to Wuhan, so I ended up in Sloan’s care. She was nice at first, and I trusted her. She gave me a place to sleep and food. There was a doctor that came to my apartment to care for me as I came to full term. She even provided formula for Ai-Li when she was born…

Ai-Li. She…”

Reyes leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, fingers lightly intertwined. He gave Mo Chao a sympathetic look and urged her to continue. He had an idea of where this was going and didn’t really want to hear the story. He already hated Sloan, that jinetera, but he did promise John he’d get more dirt on her if he could. That whole transport thing was a bust, maybe this would do. Se la vie.

Mo Chao sighed and lowered her eyes as she spoke, “Sloan eventually took her from me. Kept her as a ransom. She said she would kill Ai-Li if I didn’t do what she said. I didn’t believe her at first, so I refused to comply. But she brought a girl in and shot her in the head right in front of me. And then another. I begged her to stop, but she killed them both, and then a third girl. None of them could have been more than 20. She said it was my fault that she had to waste perfectly good whores like that. And that it was my only warning. Next time it would be Ai-Li she killed in front of me.”

Mo Chao paused in her story for a moment, so Reyes took the opportunity to pour a couple glasses of whiskey he pilfered from Kian a few days ago. Laphroaig 10-year, damned good shit. He slid one over to her and she took a large swallow, her eyes bulging at the flavor.  She nodded thanks, cleared her throat, then continued, promptly ignoring the rest of the brown, smoky liquid.

“I did everything to make sure Ai-Li was all right, but she will be 14 soon, and I know what Sloan does with girls her age. And she’s so pretty… Please, Santino. I need to get her away from there.”

Reyes furrowed his brows. There’s that name again. “I need to know who sent you to me. I feel for your plight, really, I do. But I deal in secrets, and I’m only one man with a handful of shady contacts. Sloan has an army. Who thought I’d be appropriate for this task?”

Mo Chao sighed. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. Please, keep this to yourself. If Sloan finds out I talked to anyone, she’ll do worse than kill Ai-Li.”

Reyes nodded his agreement. “Right. But, answer the question. Who sent you?”

“He was supposed to be a mark. Sloan has me bed men, make them fall in love with me, then we take their money, or I convince them to be a patsy, or… But shortly into our second date, he said he knew everything. He had been watching the operation and knew someone who could help me and Ai-Li escape. He even called her by name and said he knew what Sloan planned for her…”

So, someone on the inside of Sloan’s operation was sending this woman to him? It didn’t make sense… And he was also pretty sure that there were only two people in all the US that knew his name. Kian and John. Shit, even Keema and Scott weren’t privy to that information, and the only reason Kian knew is because he was working the bar when John first approached him at Tartarus. _“I’m looking for Santino Alejandro Vidal...” Reyes had quickly ushered him up the stairs before he could continue._

How the hell would one of Sloan’s flunkies have that info? Unless one of them worked at the customs office in Miami when he first docked back in ’80… But he was just some shit kid at the time, hardly worth remembering. Something wasn’t sitting right. His guts began to churn.

“What did he look like?” Reyes’ face must have been the personification of thunder because Mo Chao began trembling as she spoke again.

“He was… tall. And had an accent like yours… A silver streak at his temple. He… was older, but… he looked like you.”

 _Shit, shit, shit_. Reyes stomach was the new gold medalist for the Olympic gymnastics team. He blinked his eyes several times to combat the shiny flecks that suddenly danced in his vision. He needed to get piss drunk, pronto. Then maybe move him and Scott to Brazil, or Thailand, or Denmark. Wherever. He couldn’t deal with this.

Despite his turbulent anxiety, his thoughts were clear enough to know she wasn’t safe around that man. It would only be a matter of time before Mo Chao was floating in the Hudson river alongside her daughter, so he opted to help the only way his foggy brain could think to do.

“I’ll try and get Ai-Li out of there. Come back tomorrow afternoon and we'll make arrangements, call me if anything happens in the meantime.” He scribbled his number on a receipt from his pocket, then added, “And please, for the love of god, never utter the name Santino to anyone. Ever. My name is Reyes. Santino is dead.”

Reyes ushered Mo Chao out the door as quickly as he could, but she made it difficult as she kept thanking him and trying to hug him, promising that his secret is safe. What seemed like five hundred hours later, she was finally out the door. Reyes closed it, then slid his scratched, bloody back down the cold metal and succumbed to the worst panic attack he’d had since leaving Cuba. It was so bad, he felt like he had dropped acid and was stuck inside a bad trip. There was only one person on the planet that truly terrified Reyes, and now he was in NYC, actively fucking with his mind.

It took close to twenty minutes for Reyes’ breathing to get under control and the “oh, shit, I’m about to fall off a cliff” sensation to leave his gut. Once his head cleared, he drained the rest of the scotch in his glass, then called John.

“Might have an in for you. Can you meet me tomorrow at noon? Good, see you then.”

He hung up the phone, then promptly threw on his shirt and went to search for Scott, hoping to god that he was safe.

 ---

 By the grace of everything almighty, Scott was still at the bar chatting with Kian. It was the most wonderful sight he could have ever hoped for. Well, almost. Scott was holding a towel of ice to his eye, covering what would surely turn into a wickedly purple blemish across his alabaster skin. Reyes really didn’t mean to slam his face down that hard while they were fucking.

Reyes jogged down the stairs and over to the bar, interrupting the conversation. Scott was grinning, and Kian looked slightly uncomfortable, cheeks rosy in blush. From the snippets Reyes heard as he approached, Scott was regaling Kian on their sex life. Reyes pinched his eyes shut for a moment, groaning on the inside, then wrapped his arm around Scott’s waist.

“Will you come upstairs for a moment?”

“Round three already?” Scott gave a lecherous little grin as he set down his towel. Yep, the skin under his eye was already turning a shade of light blue. It would be properly black in no time. Reyes felt a mixture of chagrin at what he’d done, but also a twinge of brazen pride. It was a brand of ownership, along with every other bruise he’d left on the boy’s body.  Scott was his and had the marks to prove it.

“Perhaps, but first a private word.”  Reyes wasn’t keen on relinquishing any information about himself to anyone, even Scott, but he wouldn’t have the boy’s life in peril for his reluctance to share his past.

Scott took his hand and followed him back up to his private room. When the door was closed and locked, Scott pressed himself against Reyes, wrapped his hands through his hair and pulled his face down for a kiss. Reyes got lost in the mania they both felt this close to each other, but as he felt himself start to stiffen again, he regretfully disengaged, leading Scott over to sit on the sofa with him. He poured two glasses of scotch and sat for a moment, trying to think of what to say.

As Reyes leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the leather, the other bringing the whiskey to his lips, Scott’s slender fingers crept over and unbuttoned his pants and slid an ice cold hand in to grip his warm, steadily growing length. Reyes hissed at the coldness on his shaft, but hell if it didn’t feel nice. Shit.

Well, no one said he couldn’t talk to Scott while the boy worked his magic. Reyes tipped his head back, lifted his hips slightly so Scott could skootch him out of the constricting fabric, and enjoyed the attention he received to his groin.

“I thought we could go away for a while. A few weeks maybe… _fuck. Scott.._. New York isn’t a place we should be right now… _gaaaaah, shit!.._ It isn’t safe. Someone’s here…” Reyes trailed off as Scott removed his hands and straddled him, somehow having removed his own jeans without Reyes noticing.

“Who’s here, Luci?” Scott leaned down and sucked Reyes’ neck just below his ear, leaving a little bruise. His own small mark of ownership.

“It’s complicated… He’s Cuban mafia. Saying he’s unstable is putting it lightly… Shit! He's fam...” Scott cut off the rest of the statement with a kiss, then pulled back to appraise Reyes, eyes glassy.

Something shifted in Scott’s face, like he was wearing a mask that belonged to someone else. A terrible mask of sociopathic malevolence. It made Reyes’ heart flutter in sudden fear.

Scott’s voice was low and malicious, but the malice didn’t sound directed at him. Despite that it was still unsettling. “No one touches you but me. He’s in for a world of nightmares, I promise.”

And Reyes believed him. Who ever this secret being hidden within Scott was, it was a creature of extreme violence and rage. Reyes suspected that Scott was not someone to trifle with and suddenly wondered if the boy was carrying a body count on his conscience. The thought was unnerving. And even though his subconscious wondered if he was safe around Scott, he detected no threat to his own person. It still didn’t stop him from trembling slightly under that infernal gaze.

Scott must have seen the momentary fear in Reyes’ eyes, because he lifted a hand to his face and tenderly traced the curve of his lips, a stark contrast to the demonic glint in his eyes.

“abyssus abyssum invocate. You’ve already invited me in, there’s no breaking away now. I won’t let you fall.” _Not yet._

Reyes felt that tide swelling again as blue and hazel eyes locked. Reyes suddenly found a perverse pleasure in the idea that Scott may be a killer, someone who would take a life purely out of possession for him. That he was so thoroughly owned, and Scott knew it.

As if reading his thoughts, Scott grinned wickedly as he purred, eyes glittering with unspoken promises of horror. “Bend over.”

No. Owned, yes. Bottom, never. Especially not to this… whoever. Reyes shook his head and growled. With a lightening quick motion, he had Scott on his back, Reyes keeping his hips wedged between the boy’s thighs. Scott struggled with the shift in power, trying to squirm his way out from under the golden man above him. They vied for dominance. Scott had him flipped on his back for a moment as they tumbled to the floor, but Reyes was ultimately the stronger contender in this sordid game.

Claiming his prize like a rabid beast, Reyes pinned Scott to the ground, forearm to his throat cutting off air, and forced himself home with a shout of triumph. Scott let out a pained cry as Reyes let up on his wind pipe and started pumping into him with the wild abandon of a pack of stampeding horses. He was thankful that the boy didn’t demand he stop, because he was certain he couldn’t. He wanted to let every part of Scott know that his body didn’t belong to him anymore, it was Reyes’ to do with what he willed. Scott’s defeated cries and struggles made him stronger.

Scott suddenly let out a rich laugh that made Reyes’ blood run even hotter. “Take what’s yours. Over the edge and do not falter.” Blue eyes glassed over as Reyes leaned in and pressed their mouths together in a wet, frenzied kiss. Scott moaned into every thrust and urged him into release, hips moving in tandem, in mutual lust, no longer conquest.

Finally both spent, Reyes scooped Scott into a possessive embrace, breathing hard and sweat mingling. _I love you._ A thought he wouldn’t say out loud. Scott smiled adoringly and kissed him.

As they eventually broke contact and the glow of sex started trickling away, Reyes mood shifted back to one of unease. Scott was back to himself now, but Reyes prayed he never had to see the monster come out again, didn’t like how it made him feel. Like he _needed_ to enforce his dominance. He had never been that vicious with anyone else.

 But his trepidation melted away as Scott laid a hand over his heart and gazed up with beautiful, kind eyes. Reyes then realized that Scott understood everything without him having to reveal any details about his past or his feelings towards the boy. And he would never ask questions, only take him as the broken, possessive man he was. Reyes prayed that he would be able to muster that same level of acceptance towards Scott and his monsters someday.

“We’ll be ok if we stick together, Luci. The bad man can’t touch us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reyes' favorite scotch is Laphroaig because MY favorite scotch is Laphroaig... I unashamedly admit to drinking it like water on my days off ;D
> 
> And yep, the panic attacks I used to get when I was younger felt exactly like taking too much LSD and getting stuck in an existential mind fuck of a bad trip combined with that constant feeling of, 'Oh shit, I'm about to fall' sort of startled weirdness in your gut. Glad that shit's over! I can happily pass it on to Reyes now. 
> 
> Also - Santino Alejandro Vidal... Had to do it. Reyes Vidal always sounded so contrived to me.


	10. It's OK to die inside a little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: sexual abuse and torture. Drug use.  
> I'm probably going to hell.

**Havana, Cuba 1976**

Santino’s mother had him dressed up in fine, expensive clothes. Fitted grey slacks, silk dress shirt and a matching waistcoat. He looked like a dapper young man, dressed appropriate for the company they were to keep that evening. Tío Alejandro was having them over for dinner at his estate.

Santino’s father had run off when he was born, so his uncle had taken him and his mother under his wing. He was a wealthy man, affluent by ill gotten gains. He was not a nice man, but he gave his mother enough of a stipend to keep Santino well fed and in school, so he learned to look the other way or close his ears to the whispers of the other children when something nefarious was afoot. He knew his uncle was responsible for dozens, if not hundreds, of deaths in Havana. He didn’t like tío Alejandro, but he respected him.

Most of the dislike came from the punishments he received. His mother often said that Santino was worthless and that she hated him. He would act out in retaliation, then be sent to tío for discipline that usually consisted of a sound beating, then being locked in a cold cellar for a day with no food or water.

Despite that, he still learned to respect the man. He was one of the most powerful people in Havana. He was a strong political figure, who would later that year become the first president of the newly formed National Assembly of People's Power. And he was also a prominent figure in the Cuban mafia, La corporacion.

Santino’s mother cooed about how handsome he looked, just like Alejandro. Then scolded him to behave and promised hefty punishment for one wrong step. Santino believed her.

The dinner that evening was served in the private dining room, reserved for smaller family gatherings. It consisted of some sort duck confit and greens. Tío loved his fancy French cuisine. It just made Santino’s stomach sick from all the richness, but he finished his plate, regardless. He wouldn’t be punished for not appreciating what was given to him.

After dinner, other guests of Alejandro’s started arriving for a night of drunken debauchery, so Santino was sent to the guest room at the back of the estate. It was a common occurrence when his mother was invited over. A small intimate meal, then he was banished to another part of the house. He didn’t mind. The few times he was around the drunk adults, his ass got groped and everyone would laugh at his discomfort. He had looked to his mother, but she hated him and laughed like everyone else, telling him to go cry somewhere else.

So, he happily left the main floor and trudged up the stairs to the second floor and went to the farthest room back. There was a television and a soft 4 poster bed, so he kicked off his shoes, turned on the console and drifted off to the sounds of _Cubavision_.

It must have been somewhere around 1am when Santino was awoken to movement on the bed. Startled, he sat upright, trying to determine the source of the disturbance. Or rather, tried to sit up. His motion was blocked by the form of a large man, hands on his chest pushing him back against the bed. Alejandro loomed over him with a drunken, evil grin.

Santino was strong for his age, but hadn’t fully hit his growth spurt yet, so he knew he would be no match for Alejandro, who was nearly 6 feet tall and well-muscled. He simply laid back and wondered what the man could possibly want, not letting out a peep. Hazel eyes stared up at hazel eyes, a near mirror image. Santino didn’t think he had done anything wrong, so he desperately hoped he wasn’t about to be thrown back into the cellar for the night. It was cold down there and there were mice.

His breath hitched as he felt drunken hands fumbling at his belt. “What-“

“Shhh, cariño. You fell asleep with your clothes on. Let me help you out of these.”

Santino felt incredibly uncomfortable, but not wanting to elicit tío’s ire, he let the drunk man help him undress down to his boxers. Then strong hands pressed against his chest and forced him flat again. Hoping that the awkward moment was over, Santino moved to get himself under the blankets, but Alejandro was suddenly pinning him down, looming over him, pulling the last shred of his modesty down past his hips.

Santino started to struggle at the unwanted attention, only to be rewarded by a closed fist connecting with his face. He was dizzy, and stars swam in his eyes as he felt his boxers being pulled past his feet and his legs forced apart. Alejandro shoved himself between his thighs, delivering another blow, this time with the back of his hand. Santino felt his lip split and copper filled his mouth.

“Don’t fight me, you shit. It will only hurt you.”

“Please, Tío! I’ve been good, please stop!” Santino cried, making his face ugly and pathetic.

A powerful hand clamped over his mouth while Alessandro’s other hand moved to unzip his fly and pull himself out of the constricting fabric. The crying had made Santino’s nose stuffy and he was having a hard time getting breath around the hand on his face. He began fighting back in earnest, hands clawing at tío’s wrist and face, legs kicking wildly, trying to get himself out from under the monster and catch a breath. But his efforts were met with more blows that left him stunned. And then suddenly the worst pain he had ever felt erupted through his body as Alejandro forced himself in.

Pleading and fighting turned into pained screams and flailing.

“I was going to be nice to you, cariño, but you make me want to hurt you.” He started pumping his hips at an excruciating pace, not allowing the boy time to adjust to his girth. Santino cried out at each thrust, the bed slamming against the wall singing in harmony with his screams. He wondered if anyone could hear them, would come to his aid. But Santino knew better. Any guests who remained were probably all laughing at him.

Just when Santino thought he couldn’t feel worse, Alejandro shifted his position. With each thrust, the beefy phallus inside him started brushing a spot that sent an unbearable pleasure sensation through his body. He gasped in panic and desperately wanted away from Alejandro, needed the violation to stop.

He went back to pleading, “Please stop! God, no no no no! Stop!” He felt sick and humiliated.

Alejandro knew what had happened. He laughed and fucked harder and faster into that sweet spot, whispering horrible things in Santino’s ear. “You’re going to be a good little whore for me now, just like your mother used to be. Your life belongs to me now.”

Terror filled every fiber of his being at the threat, then mercifully, something inside his brain switched off and he stopped fighting. He laid there and took the rest of the pounding in silent catatonia, glazed eyes staring at the ceiling. Sooner or later it would have to end.  And after what had to be an hour, it did end. With white ropes of shame splashing against his face.

Once Alejandro left, Santino brought himself out of his daze and crawled his way into the en suite restroom to shower himself clean. It took a lot of effort for him to get to his feet, every motion sending a shock of pain through his abdomen. As soon as he was able to right himself, he stood looking into the mirror. Minutes passed as he stared into his own eyes. Eyes just like Alejandro’s. His reflection suddenly shattered into a million pieces, his fist repeatedly punching the ugly image. It took a moment for him to realize that the death wail reverberating across the room came from his own bleeding mouth.

Santino eventually moved away from the shattered remains of his reflected image to turn on the shower, nearly slipping in the blood that had pooled around his feet from his torn entrance. With the shower as hot as it would go, he sat himself under the water and let it slide over him, knees hugged to his chest. He took solace from the comforting steam that enveloped him and slowly drifted back to sleep.

 

The abuse started happening every time they were invited over. Alejandro seemed to have taken a liking to him, so the visits became frequent. Santino begged his mother to leave him at home, but she would have none of it. Alejandro had demanded that he continue to attend his gatherings, so Santino had no way of convincing her. And after a short time, Alejandro decided that Santino would “benefit” from living under his roof and away from the influences of women. He told Santino that he was to be his “full time whore” from here on out.

Santino tried telling his mother about what was happening, but she beat him repeatedly with a bottle of Havana Club until it finally shattered against his back, leaving deep cuts that would require stitches. The rum burned the wounds. All the while she screamed at him at what a horrible, slanderous bitch he was. Ungrateful, manipulative, evil scum. How dare he speak ill of his father… Her eyes went wide at the slip of her tongue and slapped him even harder, like it was his fault she misspoke. She had been one of Alejandro’s whores, too. The man had said it himself.

The sudden knowledge made him sick. Sicker than anything that had been done to him. Face turning unnatural shades of green, he ran to his room and grabbed a small stash of money he had secreted under his mattress, then ran out the door to flee from his life.  

And that’s how he found himself in a rundown squat two weeks later, stoned out of his mind, lying on a dirty mattress next to a young man who was too fucked up to remove the needle from his arm.

Santino was only 14 when he started using heroin. He felt 64.

Santino had spent the better part of a month at the squat, getting lost in his high and forgetting how horrible life could be, before Alejandro finally found him.

 ---

Santino was still in a drug addled daze when he awoke. He moaned sleepily at the cold sensation around his wrists, tried moving his arms only to hear metal clacking from above him. He felt naked. Santino blinked his eyes open, working hard to operate his brain properly. Looking down at himself he noted, _yes, it seems I am naked._ And then he drifted off again.

The second time he woke up, the opiates he had taken earlier in the day were finally wearing off. He took in his surroundings in a moment of panic before his captor came in to torment him. He was in one of the cement rooms he recognized from his time locked in the storm cellar, his arms chained to the pipes above. His shoulders and wrists ached fiercely from having held all his weight while he was passed out. At least there were no mice in these small rooms. He felt cold and exposed. Shit.

Santino’s body trembled as the door opened and Alejandro walked in accompanied by a brutish giant of a man that loomed over them both. The thug carried an equally giant fire hose through the door. Before Santino could get a word out, the brute was pulling back a lever and he was hit full force with water so cold it sent his body into shock. He was having a hard time catching his breath, his chest constricting. The blast from the hose was so powerful that it immediately started leaving the beginnings of nasty bruises across his body. The blast continued for several minutes, freezing Santino to his very core.

He shook and convulsed against his restraints, tried to turn around so the water wouldn’t hit his face and make him feel like he was drowning under a sheet of ice. Then abruptly the hose was cut off and Santino was able to pull in a ragged breath and let out a single hoarse scream.

Alejandro just looked at him and laughed, then left the cold cement room, followed by the giant. The door shut behind them and Santino could hear a lock slide into place. A few moments later he could hear the tell-tale _tick tick tick_ of the AC unit clicking on. Alejandro had the industrial kind installed. The kind that could turn a room into a walk-in freezer within hours.

Santino cried out, hot tears momentarily warming his icy face. He only wanted to escape the abuse, to free himself of his promised demise and touch oblivion. And for being hurt and afraid, his punishment was a slow death at the hands of the sociopath he was trying to flee. He would be another nameless body dumped in the harbor, bloated and rotting, utterly forgotten. _Dios, deja que termine…_

But he didn’t die. Not that day.

After an indeterminable amount of time passed, Santino shivering and turning blue, the AC was graciously cut off. Alejandro and the thug re-entered the room, the hose left behind this time. He sobbed out in relief that he wouldn’t get a second shot of the cold water on his skin.

Alejandro walked up to him and slapped him full force across the face.

“This is what you do after everything I’ve given to you and your mother? You ungrateful piece of shit. I’ll not share my name with a fucking junkie! You want to be fucked out of your mind? Then you’ll be fucked out of your mind.” Alejandro gave a nod to the giant, then left the two of them alone in the room. The beast of a man smiled as he unbuttoned his pants, basking in the look of horror that crossed Santino’s face.

Alejandro ascended the stares of the cellar to the sounds of Santino screaming for his life, the noise reverberating through the cellar like a discordant symphony of anguish. He was just the worthless offspring of one of his ex-whores. From here on out he would stop being kind. Alejandro felt incredibly smug.


	11. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The downward spiral starts.

 

John entered Tartarus promptly at noon. He made eye contact with Kian who gave him the affirmative head nod, then walked up the stairs to meet Reyes. John scanned the place as he ascended the metal stairwell, looking for the blue-eyed boy that set his nerve endings aflame. But both to his relief and chagrin, he was nowhere to be seen. Why the hell was he thinking about the kid? He was here to discuss Sloan. Focus.

John entered the room to find a haggard Reyes twirling a glass of whiskey, eyes glazed and looking through the caramel color at something unseen on the floor.

The young man finally looked up at him with a shudder, eyes haunted. Then he cleared his throat, voice cracking as he spoke.

“It’s your lucky day, Shepard. Mr. Vidal is in town.”

\---

The meeting with Mo Chao went significantly better than Reyes had been expecting. He thought she would struggle more and put up all sorts of resistance at the idea of working with John. But she seemed so defeated, resignation plastered across her angelic face. She didn’t really want to work with the cops, didn’t trust that it wouldn’t come back to her. But she knew she had no other options, so accepted her fate.

John suggested that she continue going on dates with her potential marks to keep up appearances, it was the only way to ensure that Sloan wouldn’t retaliate and kill her daughter while they found a way to get her and the other girls out of harms way. From here on out they would meet away from Tartarus. It was too risky for Mo Chao to be seen entering an establishment associated with Reyes.

John gave Mo Chao a number to call later that day for further instructions then ushered her out the door with a promise that he’d do everything he could to get Sloan locked away for good. As the door closed behind her, he turned around and looked back at Reyes.

“I’m keeping you out of the loop concerning Mo Chao from here on out. It will be safer the fewer people are involved.” John sighed before he continued. “But there is something you can do to help… “

Reyes swallowed the amber liquid in his glass, then poured a refill. He’d already finished half a bottle in the last hour and was desperately wishing he could feel drunk. “what is it?”

“Set up a meeting with Mr. Vidal, find out what he’s up to…”

Reyes stood up and stumbled backwards, knocking over the lamp set up on the far side of his leather sofa.

“You’re family, you wouldn’t be in any immediate danger…”

He thought he might be sick. Reyes felt all the blood draining from his face and desperately fought off the panic that was rising in his chest.

“You’d have a detail watching you at all times…”

“John…” Reyes’ voice was gritty and low, head shaking furiously. The motion upset the balance he was precariously clinging to. He collapsed to his hands and knees and vomited all over the concrete floor, again and again. When he couldn’t retch any more, he stared at the puddle, slowly spreading around his hands. Reyes tried to make out shapes; there was a dragon, an iris, a majestic eagle. Everything in his periphery looked hot pink. The sensation of his clothes against his skin was so distressing that he wanted to scream. The panic was setting in.

 ---

John stopped talking as the realization hit him. Reyes wasn’t the hard man he pretended to be. John had seen plenty of PTSD from his time in the marines and again on the police force. And sure enough, the young man in front of him was having a mental break.

John felt like shit. All he knew of Reyes is what he found during his investigations into Sloan’s connection with Mr. Vidal. He had gone through a long list of names from the customs data base on a whim, not expecting to have the name pop up. But lo and behold, there it was. **_Santino Alejandro Vidal: DOB April 1 st 1962\.  POB: Havana, Cuba. Criminal record: Nil. Immigration status: approved. Stamped April 21st 1980\. _**

John knew that there were likely hundreds of men with the same name throughout Havana, and this particular one was 25 years younger than who he was after, but it was worth tracking him down in case of the off chance of there being family ties. And as soon as John set eyes on the young man, he knew without a doubt that he belonged to the family, the resemblance to the photos of Mr. Vidal was uncanny.

The boy had been wide eyed and insisted that John call him Reyes. He broke all contact with his family and wouldn’t say much more. So John dropped it. But now, he suspected there was more to the story than just a young man leaving his family to try and be his own person.

John had somehow shoved his finger into a wound that he didn’t know existed. Reyes was slumped on the ground, shaking and hyperventilating. His mischievous, heather flecked eyes where distant and hollow, golden skin now pallid and clammy.

John reached over to put a comforting hand on Reyes’ shoulder, but the contact made him flinch. He shoved himself awkwardly back and away from John, back til the wall stopped him from going any farther, breath coming in fast, ragged huffs. Reyes ripped his t-shirt off over his head and used it to wipe his face clear of sweat and tears, concurrently kicking off his boots in a rush. His head tipped back and thumped against the wall, shirt still hiding his face from the world.

John left the room while Reyes calmed down. He retrieved a hot rag from Kian and a roll of paper towels for the mess on the floor. By the time he got back to the room upstairs, Reyes was starting to look better, his color slowly coming back and his eyes less haunted. John threw the paper towels to the leather sofa and sat with his back against the wall next to the shaken young man.

“I have a hot towel for your face… Can I touch you?”

Reyes made a slight flinch, then weakly nodded his head in consent. John gently wiped his face and neck clean, offering soothing words, “Everything will be ok, no one can hurt you now. You’re safe with me.” Reyes turned his head to gaze at John with sad eyes.

“If I see him… he’ll… tío will take me back to Havana. I’ll die there.” His eyes flickered for a moment, replaying far away horrors. “Worse.” John cupped his hand over his cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping away the fresh tears.

“We won’t let that happen, Reyes. I promise.”

 ---

After John had left, Reyes sat for a while sipping his whiskey, humiliation coloring his cheeks. Not only did he cry and throw a hissy fit in front of him, but had kissed and groped at the man who was only trying to show some fatherly kindness. It was the cherry on top of a shit sundae. The whole situation made Reyes feel like a broken little thing.

Reyes supposed he just wasn’t used to anyone being gentle or nurturing with him. He had never looked at John in that way, and still didn’t. But as soon as that hand cupped his face, Reyes only had thoughts of getting closer. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Johns, sliding his tongue into the man’s unsuspecting mouth. But as Reyes slipped his hand down below John’s waist, the older man’s shock had worn off and was gently pushing Reyes away.

“I’m here if you need anything, kid. If you want to talk or just want someone around to make you feel safe. But I’m not here to get intimate. That’s not something that can happen, I’m sorry.”

Reyes had turned his head away and stared at the sofa, unresponsive, for the remainder of the time John was there. Eventually the man stood up, cleaned up the pile of vomit, then left.

After wallowing in self pity for a time, Reyes decided it was time to put his big boy pants back on and face the world. Now that the meeting with John and Mo Chao was over, he could collect Scott and get them out of town for a few days. Despite what John had asked, Reyes had no intentions of crossing paths with tío, intentionally nor accidentally. Making himself scarce was a good way to avoid it. So, with shaking legs, Reyes put on his cocky demeanor like a feathered festival mask, hiding away his instability for the time, then walked out the door to find his young paramour.


	12. There's not enough whiskey in the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post a chapter earlier in the week, but finals are coming up and I have to finish sewing a ridiculously awesome wedding gown for my couture class.  
> So, here's a shorty. Hopefully I can get another chapter finished before I have to get back to work!

Reyes walked back to his warehouse loft with his guts twisting into shapes like balloon animals. The world’s smallest ring leader must have moved in, because by the time he arrived home, he was certain there was an entire menagerie prancing around doing tricks in his stomach. He almost puked again, twice, on that short walk, each time having to hold himself up against a brownstone to steady his breathing. _So much for those big boy pants_.

Scott was no longer at Tartarus by the time he left his private room, Kian stating he hadn’t said where he was off to. And now, entering his loft, it seemed Scott was not there either. _Shit._

“Shit.”

Reyes pulled a bottle of Tullamore Dew from the cupboard and downed a third of it in one go, a feeble effort at keeping his anxiety on a leash, then called Keema to see if Scott was with her. No one answered.

Reyes left a message, then tried the number for her car phone. Again, no answer. He sat down and went through his rolodex, calling anyone and anywhere Scott might have run off to. He wasn’t at Rao’s, not at the library. He wasn’t with Umi, who explicitly told him to fuck off. He hadn’t returned to Tartarus. The Tempest wasn’t docked, maybe he was out sailing?

After a few minutes of pacing and steadily downing another third of whiskey, Reyes almost tripped over his own feet as he saw Scott’s sketchbook opened on the living room coffee table, an elegantly scrawled note on the open page. He plopped down on the sofa and furrowed his brows as he read, cursing himself for not noticing it right away.

 

_-Shena –_

_I caught wind of another Remnant site, so I’m off to collect as much tech as I can find in the ruins. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye in person, but I don’t suspect it should be more than a few weeks. I’ll be back to Kadara as soon as possible!_

_On a different note: I’m not sure if you’re aware, but this has been very surreal for me. Having taken over as Pathfinder, having an AI thrust into my head against my will, ( **SHUT THE FUCK UP, SAM**!), literally dying three times, and not a single person having faith in my abilities to lead the team… ~~Especially not my asshole father who thrust me into this position in the first place. Hope you stay dead. Shit eating son of a fuc~~_

_Anyway, I’m glad to have met you. Sometimes I think you’re the only person who’s got my back. I was going to say something entirely maudlin, but I threw up in my mouth. Baby bird?_

_-Ryder-_

_PS. My ass hurts. This shit was "exit only" ‘til I met you. Next time, I’m on top. (Not to insinuate myself into your life or anything, but I hope there will be a next time. If you’re game, so am I. Because, goddamn. You are lickable.)_

Reyes didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. He settled on both.

 

 ---

 

He must have passed out, because as Reyes opened his eyes, his loft was pitch black. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ He got up, fumbled for a light switch and checked the time. 9:32pm

He threw on a black denim jacket and some fingerless gloves, then took off after making sure there were no new messages from Scott on his answering machine. Before locking the door, Reyes doubled back and grabbed Scott’s book from the table, tucking it inside the back of his waistband.

After a quick peak inside Tartarus and learning that Scott still hadn’t come back, Reyes decided to head to the pier and wait for the Tempest to re-dock. That had to be where Scott was! He jogged a block down the street, then descended the stairs leading to the Myrtle Ave subway station. He only had to wait 3 minutes ‘til the M pulled up and he was on his way to Manhattan.  

Sitting back on the hard seat, Reyes took out Scott’s notebook and flipped through it, finding the note again. Scott didn’t leave any clues at all to where he was going. Reyes made a conscious effort to start paying more attention when Scott talked about his missions as Pathfinder. Maybe next time he’d be able to identify these “Remnant sites” with actual landmarks.

Shit. If Scott was really going to be gone for a few weeks, there would be no telling what trouble he might find himself in. He plopped his head into his hands and ran every single worst case scenario through his mind. His worry was so consuming that he almost missed his stop being called.

Jumping off the train at Rockefeller Center, Reyes started the short walk to the M50 bus stop. Ascending the stairs and out into the open air, he shivered at how quiet and deserted the street was. It was barely 10:30, there should be hundreds of people walking about, and even more cars speeding past like maniacs. But there was not a soul. Dead silence. Reyes felt a chill up his spine and hurried his pace to West 49th where he could hop on his bus. As he was about to turn, he felt a hand clamp over his mouth from behind, another arm wrapped around his chest, and he was being dragged backwards into the shadows.

Reyes fought off the groping hands as best as he could, but it felt like they were everywhere, holding him in place, his back tight against a large, solid chest. Reyes had spent the last several years working out, making himself strong and agile; he never wanted to be overpowered again. But now, here he was, being restrained with barely an effort, his struggles futile.

The shadows around him undulated and it seemed like if he could just breathe and focus, he would be able to make out faces. But whenever his eyes locked on a shape, nothing was there. Then Reyes felt ropey tendrils encasing his kicking legs, subduing him further. A hissing voice came from a man-sized shape from the darkness, dripping menacingly with disappointment.

 “Cariño, you left without saying goodbye. You’ve made me very angry.”

Reyes sat bolt upright, disoriented by the flickering, yellow lights. Trying to get his racing heart under control, he took in his surroundings. M train. His stop was soon. Reyes looked at the wall above the windows and focused his eyes on the ad directly across from him and read, trying to keep his mind from going into panic mode. _Have you talked to your wife about AIDS? Don’t you people have anything else to talk about?_

Reyes caught movement from the corner of his eye. He looked over at a homeless man in a dirty, tan trench coat sprawled across the seat down the aisle. Something snake-like slithered through a gap in one of the folds of the coat, incredibly phallic and fleshy, writhing. It looked like a thick, veiny tail, unearthly and outright creepy. Reyes wiped his eyes with his finger tips as the lights flickered again, an electric buzzing each time the lights flashed off and on. He looked back; the tail was gone.

As soon as the automated voice chirped over the intercom stating 47-50 and Rockefeller Center, Reyes jumped up and sped through the doors onto the platform, then sat on one of the benches to steady his brain. _You’re going crazy, Comebola atorado!_

Reyes watched as passengers left the train and others boarded, then after a few minutes, the M closed its doors and took off down the tunnel. Every window of every car had a face pressed against it, watching him. Faces, white like maggots, eyeless and demonic. As the last car sped by, the face at the very back window shook until it blurred, then was suddenly still as it’s bloody hands slammed against the window. Seconds later, the train was out of sight.

He didn’t remember stumbling up the stairs and exiting the station or hopping on the M50 and riding the 7 stops to the pier, strangers eying him awkwardly as he rocked back and forth, whispering to himself in Spanish. Nor did he remember finding the Tempest docked and hopping aboard to find no one there.

Reyes awoke with the dawn to find he had curled up in the cabin, one of Scott’s hoodies used as a pillow, his notebook clutched to his chest. Reyes breathed in deep the smell of Scott and buried his face in the fabric. He stretched, then moved to rub his eyes. He narrowly missed hitting himself with the metal object held firm in his hand. Ruger mark 1, a proper dandy’s pistol if he’d ever seen one. Classic.

Gun still in hand and not considering where he'd procured it, Reyes climbed the ladder and emerged on deck. No signs of Kallo, Suvi, or Scott. Sighing, Reyes ripped a page out of Scott’s journal and wrote a hastily scrawled note.

 

_If Scott comes by, call me. And don’t let him out of your sight!_

_-Reyes_

 

He pinned the note to the main mast, tucked the gun into his pants, then hopped over the rail of the Tempest and landed on the dock. He stopped and got a cup of coffee, then made his way back home via taxi, hoping to god that Scott was safe. His head was throbbing and he desperately wanted to get back to his whiskey. Reyes was so distracted by his thoughts, he never noticed the man watching him from the black BMW. He had hazel eyes that matched Reyes’ own, fleck for fleck, and a silver streak across his right temple, running dapperly through his neatly combed, black hair.

The man wore a smug little grin. He rolled up his window, then instructed his driver to follow. Time to see where Cariño spent his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuban expletives are awesome. Comebola atorado: google translate will tell you that it means "stumpy eater". It's more like, "chokes on dick", implying that your love for having junk in your mouth severely inhibits your ability to breath. Haha!
> 
> The gif is from Being Human (UK) - I think it fits well with how I picture Young Reyes looking.


	13. Scribbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just for shits and giggles, a few pages out of Scott's Journal. Nothing to do with plot.

 

**Scott’s Journal**

 

I hit on ugly men and I have no sleeping visions                                                                                                                               

              full of bloody meat.                                                                                                                                                 

   When I boil eggs                                                                                                                                                                  

       I am a mean cooker

 ---

Luci was mad today, not angry mad, got insane with the drink. All his glory faded, betrayal, frailty, denial, and he’s a whore. He’s faced a miserable life and never knew trueness. All alone, goodbye, a cracked and crumbling shell of the beauty he could have been. What will truly become of him? I couldn’t say. I love him. I think we’ll die the same day, the same way.

**\---**

I saw a naked girl once. This is her. Can't recall if she ever had a name.

 ---

A face appeared in my taco today? No, no. I’m not mad. Ageless... Not sure what it means, though. I should have talked to it, but I was hungry. I think I ate the only last living oracle on earth… I feel like a real asshole sometimes.

Supercalifragilistic Sadomasochism!

 ---

So what happened to the things I believed in? I don’t remember a change. Piece me together, but I know myself. I know that I am sane. I don’t know when I became so different but remember all my oddities of the past and I’m warmly treasuring my new ones. You see, I’m not as insane as they said I was. You see? Well, at least not as much as I feel. What?

\---

Glued to the TV                                                                                                                                                      

             inventing lots of friends                                                                                                                                                    

   bought a black market baby                                                                                                                                

bought a whole lot of guns

\---

Hot and dirty sitting here playing tunes inside my head ‘cuz there’s no time and nothing to do but be hot and dirty and listen to tunes. Feed the pigeons corn. Corn, corn, and more corn. Does that really make them explode? I bet that’s a myth. Why kill time when you can k-k-k-k-k-kill yourself?

Seeing Luci soon. I have bruises like finger prints all over my hips, he kissed my lips, then bent me over. I can see the quality, but you just feel the length. Stretch and poke and pop and stretch and Poke and pop and stretch and poke and stretchpokepop stretchpokepop stretch.

Rut: A periodic sexual excitement of certain male animals.

 ---

Wiggity wacked all on the smack. Stole a weird book from the dollar bin and cut it all up.

 ---

I’ve drawn on my arms. Remembered a map! Tallyho, motherfuckers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork is mine.  
> There's a couple lines of song lyrics in there:  
> "Supercalifragilistic Sadomasochism!  
> Why kill time when you can k-k-k-k-k-kill yourself?  
> I can see the quality, but you just feel the length. Stretch and poke and pop and stretch and Poke and pop and stretch and poke and stretchpokepop stretchpokepop stretch."
> 
> "Wash it all off" by Scraping Foetus off the Wheel


	14. Demons invade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: Massive PTSD/Panic disorder and domestic violence

 

Two and a half days. 60 hours almost non-stop Reyes had been scouring the city for Scott. He had even called John asking if he’d heard from the boy, though he felt awkward contacting him after making a fool of himself the other day, but the man had heard not a peep. The Tempest was still docked, but Kallo and Suvi hadn’t been there any of the times he stopped by, his note still stuck to the mast. He called Keema one last time from a payphone near the docks, nearly beating the life out of a bum who refused to exit the booth.

As the man clutched his bloody face and crawled away, Reyes was finally able to enter the phonebooth and dial Keema’s number, only to find that she hadn’t heard from Scott either.

“Reyes, darling, the best thing you can do is go home. He’ll come back to you… Would you like me to come over and wait with you?”

“No. If he calls you, I don’t want you to miss him. He’d call you if he was in trouble, right?” Reyes sighed, “You’re right, I should head home.”

“Settle your mind, dear. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s made it this far without you. I bet he’s out wooing the pants off some fancy Wall Street exec right this very second. He’s fine, Reyes.”

He had been avoiding telling Keema what was going on, so she wasn’t as concerned as he was. And it was eating him up not talking about it, but other than telling her Scott hadn’t come home, he didn’t want to worry her further. And of course, she’d make light of the situation, knowing well his possessiveness over the boy. It didn’t stop the maddening twinge of jealousy he felt at her comment, though. He saw a flash of red and hung up the receiver unceremoniously, stumbling back out into the cool air. Fuck Keema.

Reyes stumbled away from the pier, dragging a hand through his dirty hair. It was getting long and clung to his cheeks. Despite the pre-autumn chill in the air, he couldn’t stop sweating and his face felt clammy.

 Reyes headed for a busier street to hail a cab. He was afraid to take the subway again. Every time he was in that cold tunnel, he saw those bloodless faces peering at him, just waiting to suck his soul away with their gaping maws. All the shadows came to life and crawled after him on bloody stumps.

It was barely better above ground. So many people everywhere. Sometimes he’d catch one of their faces morphing into something ungodly, elongated and dripping black tar from eye sockets. His heart was constantly threatening to explode from the shear panic. He wanted nothing more than to hide in his loft and be safe until the world went away. But Scott was not safe so long as tío Alejandro was lurking through his city. So, he forced himself to keep looking.

It was late, so the taxi didn’t take more than 40 minutes to get him back to Bushwick from Hell’s Kitchen. He tipped the cabbie extra since his face didn’t morph and stayed human the whole ride, thank god. Reyes hurried up the sidewalk and through the main entrance to his loft, the long hallway before him greeting him with the ‘vertigo effect’. Despite his door getting farther away from him the faster he moved towards it, in a few short seconds he found himself inside his home, the walls safely sheltering him finally.

Reyes’ head twitched at a popping noise from the microwave, noticing that the lights were on and his door had been unlocked. The air smelled like butter. He took two steps in to investigate when Scott came bounding around the corner, a spring in his step and a wearing a beautiful glowing grin. Why was he glowing? Reyes squinted his eyes in suspicion.

“Hey! Hope you don’t mind that I let myself in. Making some popcorn, you wanna watch a mo…” Scott trailed off, concern painting his face. “Are you OK?” His hand reached out and cupped Reyes’ cheek.

“Where have you been?” Reyes tried to make his voice soft, but it came out as a growl.

Scott kissed his face. “God, you look horrible. Are you sick? C’mon, let me take care of you…”

Reyes grabbed his arm and pulled at him with enough force to make the boy stumble. “Answer me.”

“Investigating remnant sites, I told you.” Scott yanked his arm free and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Don’t fucking give me that bullshit! Where have you been?” _probably wooing the pants off some fancy Wall Street Exec. Fucking Keema._

Scott pushed him off. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

Reyes slammed the boy against the wall and started ripping at his clothes, checking for marks that someone else might have left. “Where you out fucking someone?!”

“Back off, Shena! You know I’ve got a job to do. I can’t sit around and pretend I’m your wife all the goddamn time!” Scott tried to shove his hands away as they lifted his shirt and tugged his jeans partway down, revealing fresh bruising to his hips and ass.

“Who the fuck were you with?!” Reyes was Screaming, spittle flying as he slapped Scott across the face. The boy only looked at him in shocked silence, like he was looking at someone he’d never seen before. And perhaps that was true. Reyes had never flown off the handle like this with anyone in his life. But that didn’t stop him from slapping him again when he didn’t answer. Harder this time. Scott's hands flew up in a defensive position as his head rebounded off the wall from the second blow.

“Stop! I didn’t do anything! No one touched me!”

“Explain this!” Reyes squeezed painfully into the bruised flesh of Scott’s hip, causing the boy to cry out.

Scott reflexively brought his knee up and bent over, trying to shield himself from prying hands. “Stop it! You’re hurting me… I don’t know how I got that!”

 Reyes knew he was lying.

“ _Ow! Please don’t!”_ After all the days of anxiety and demons following him wherever he went, nightmares, tenebrous creatures stalking, he felt exhausted and terrified.

 _“Please, stop! Oh, god stop!”_ Reyes was beside himself with worry and Scott was off fucking someone else, no shits given to what Reyes was going through.

 _“SHENA!!”_ He was suddenly overwhelmed with the image of his boy down on his hands and knees being pounded from behind; staring at him straight in the eye and laughing.

 _“No one touched me, I swear!!”_ Laughing at Reyes like he was some joke. Mocking him. His fist went through drywall.

 _“Nononono, oh god, oh god!”_ He could practically _smell_ the other person’s scent all over him. And they just kept on laughing.

 _“STOOOOOOOOP!”_ Echoing laughter, pulsing through his skull. Laughter, thick with menace. Shadowy tendrils oozed from their faces. Demons.

Reyes voice felt hoarse from the wail ripping from his throat. “STOP LAUGHING AT ME!!”

But Scott wasn’t mocking him. He was flat on his back, denim clad legs straddling him, knees pinning his arms in place. Blood smeared across his face, his lips swollen and gasping. Reyes wondered if those were his own hands on the boy’s throat, he had gloves like those. The shock of the moment hit him, and he stumbled back, releasing Scott. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuuuuck!_

Scott coughed and gasped for air, then turned to his stomach and feebly pushed himself away, dirty Chuck Taylor’s gaining purchase on the hardwood floor, giving him a few extra feet of distance. He collapsed, sobbing, his tears and blood staining the designer area rug laid out in the living room floor.  

“I swear I wasn’t with anyone! Oh god, oh god, please… You’re the only one, please no…” His words where muffled around the sounds of his tears and the rug pressed against his face. He kept repeating those words over and over, and all Reyes could do was sit there unblinking, ashen faced, and stare at the mess he just made.

Inside his mind, everything was fading. Anxiety conquered all, and the shadow men took advantage. They forced his struggling body down into a coffin of glass. He sank into his own grave through the floor, the rectangular glow of light above him getting smaller, and Scott’s pleading getting softer the farther the arms dragged him down. He was going to Hell.  


	15. Cuff me, bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Reyes have their order of operations all backwards.  
> (A bit of Scott POV! It's rare that it happens, but damned fun to write)  
> Also, mostly smut. Yeah yeah yeah!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooo! I think it's been almost a month since I updated...  
> Finals are done and my projects all turned out friggin awesome. Phew!  
> I'll try and post once or twice a week again from here on out!

 

Scott was getting antsy. It had been five days since Reyes had gone away.

Scott thought about the glazed eyes that had looked at him but not seen him. The horrible accusations. The hands that bruised his face then wrapped around his neck. Scott sighed.

He wasn't afraid of Reyes, probably would never be. Reyes could put a gun to his head, pull the trigger and kill him dead, and he still wouldn't be afraid. The physical damage was pretty minimal, all said and done. Physical hurts are just a thing that happens. Right? Scott could handle that. Hell, Reyes hurt him physically pretty much every day. Made it so he could barely walk straight. He even had to take stool softeners regularly so he could shit without pain.

But regardless of the side effects, Scott was glad for it. No one had ever been so physical with him. Everyone always said, "Your mind is too fragile. What a poor little boy. blah blah blah blah precious." Barf. Reyes didn't give a shit. Didn't treat him like he was about to break into a million pieces. Reyes didn't keep porcelain dolls. Reyes held him down and took what he wanted, whenever he wanted. Made Scott scream. It made his nethers tingle just thinking about it.

Scott laughed as he looked down and noticed himself getting hard through his blue jeans, and idly palmed his erection. Scott couldn't wait for Reyes to get back and make more bruises.

Despite Scott's unhealthy growing obsession with Reyes inflicting pain, the whole scenario had been very upsetting the other night. Reyes didn't fuck him. Reyes hurt him, and hurt him, and hurt him. Then didn't fuck him. Scott felt heart broken at the time. Still did a little. The things he said hurt far more than the bruises. No one fucked Scott like Reyes, so why would he run off and let some sub-standard creep touch him? No way. Or maybe, yes, he should go get fucked. It could happen, actually. But it didn't. But it could. Reyes didn't trust him. Maybe he shouldn't. Scott knew he wasn't always right in the head and often lost track of the days. But, he was a good boy. Sometimes. Mostly. Reyes didn't trust him and that stung. And because Reyes didn't trust him, Reyes didn't fuck him. That stung even more. A bee in the eye. Made him feel unloved.

People said that he acted strange sometimes and wondered if what happened to Reyes the other night is what he was like when  _he_ went away. Eyes glazed over and out of control? Scott was told once that he had killed people, but didn't believe it. He knew he could fly sometimes, but kill? Doubtful. Reyes could probably kill. Especially with eyes glazed the way they had been.  But not Scott thank you. Well, no. shit. It's a possibility. If only Scott could remember. Scott decided he would tell Reyes that he _was_ a killer, then maybe he'd get punished. Even if it wasn't true. He hoped Reyes would make it hurt.

As Scott snapped out of his thoughts for a moment, he realized he had his hand fully inside his pants, stroking himself. The other hand gripped the kitchen island as he stared at the door, waiting for Reyes to come home and catch him. It should be any minute now. Reyes had been at the hospital for several days, supposedly getting his anxiety under control. Keema made him go. And now Keema was bringing him home. Scott laughed, then hung his head, focusing on the feel of his velvety soft skin gripped in his palm. He pictured Reyes wrapping his hands around his throat and let out a little moan. He better slow down or he would spend himself. Can't come yet, not without Reyes. 

Scott's thoughts were like a beacon. His wants, his needs, ushered Reyes through the door like magic. The man was there, eyes going wide as he took in Scott panting against the kitchen island. Scott smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was a 'get your ass over here and fuck me' smile. Scott crawled onto the island on hands and knees as Reyes latched the door behind him. Words were coming out of Reyes' mouth as he took a hesitant step forward, but Scott wasn't hearing it. Scott pushed himself onto his knees and slipped his shirt off over his head, then threw it at Reyes. More words came out of Reyes' mouth and Scott idly wondered why he couldn't hear the sound. It didn't matter. Fingernails mattered. Scratching down his back. Scott growled as he unzipped his jeans.

And then suddenly Reyes was there. Carefully cupping Scott's face in his hands, drawing delicate lines across his lips with calloused fingers. Then the softest kiss Scott had ever felt. The tenderness conflicted with Scott's urges. It felt really nice. It tickled and sent electricity down to his groin, but it wasn't what Scott needed. He deepened the kiss, tongue investigating the inside of Reyes' mouth. And Reyes kissed back, carefully at first, like he was unsure if this was OK. But at a breathy groan from Scott, the urgency overtook him until it was all spit and teeth and kissing so hard their jaws creaked. The kiss was so intense that Scott barely noticed as the rest of their clothes disappeared. That's better.

Reyes climbed onto the counter and pushed himself on top of Scott. He was still being careful, the kisses becoming gentler and the caresses to Scott's body almost reverent. Each brush of soft lips against his exposed skin sent shivers through his body. But it wasn't enough. Scott whimpered. "Quit teasing."

Reyes stopped what he was doing and studied Scott's face for a moment. And Scott knew he probably looked a sight, all writhing and whimpering and needy. Then a mischievous light gleamed in Reyes' eyes as he hopped off the counter and scooped Scott up in his arms, then flung him over his shoulder like a goddamn cave man. Scott made an indignant squawk, then laughed as he was carried to the bedroom, only to be tossed carelessly onto the bed. Reyes fumbled through the bedside table as Scott wiggled around, waiting to have his brains fucked out. Yay! And when Reyes manhandled his arms above his head, firmly cuffing his wrists to the headboard, Scott let out a delighted puff of breath. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about."

Reyes met his mouth with a wet kiss, slow sweeps of his tongue against Scott's. It was sweet and soft. It annoyed Scott. He bucked his hips up in attempt to grind against Reyes, get this show moving along. But Reyes wasn't having it. Reyes' lips left Scott's as he held his hips in place with firm hands. Then took his goddamn sweet time planting kisses up and down Scott's body, sucking bruises into his neck and each thigh, the skin on his collar bone, a smug grin on his face every time Scott whimpered or pleaded and tugged against his restraints. "Please, no teasing!" Reyes just laughed and kept on kissing and gently leaving marks, painstakingly avoiding Scott's dick. 

Reyes threw one of Scott's thighs over his shoulder as he kissed another bruise into his hip, then worked his way down his inner thigh.  _Finally!_ Reyes firmly spread Scott's legs out of the way and moved his hands to spread his cheeks, then started working his tongue around Scott's hole. Scott gasped and convulsed at the sensation, handcuffs clacking against the headboard. He's pretty sure Reyes had never directly kissed him there before. It still wasn't the pain or release he wanted, but he'd be a monkey's uncle if it didn't feel nice. Scott wasn't sure, but he thought he may have said that out loud. Reyes hummed a laugh and deepened his kiss, tongue probing and loosening his tight muscles. The wet, smacking sound it made had Scott giggling. Reyes kept on for what felt like days and Scott could feel the excess saliva dripping between his cheeks onto the bed. Scott was a writhing mess by the time Reyes finally pulled his face away and slipped not one, but two fingers inside of him. His muscles were so relaxed by that point that they just slid right in to the last knuckle.

But instead of working him open, Reyes moved his fingers around til he found the spot he was looking for. Scott nearly came on the spot and he let out a telling wail. Jackpot! Reyes quickly took his other hand and firmly grasped the base of Scott's dick, shutting down his body's ability to release. First contact. And it wasn't to help him come, it was to make him hold it.  _Mother fucking fucker! Fuck you..._ At least, that's what Scott tried to say around his gasp. Reyes started flicking his fingers, repeatedly drumming over Scott's prostate, the hold on his shaft growing tighter as Scott writhed. The pure pleasure combined with the need to release was almost too intense for Scott to bear. He was thrashing and screaming, but Reyes wouldn't let up the insistent drumming, a third finger joining the fray, increasing the speed of the cadence. Tears were streaming down his face and he could barely pull in a breath. Then without notice, Reyes lips were around his shaft and he was coming. Sonofabitch, he came so hard he saw spots in his eyes. There was an earth shattering scream pealing out of his throat as his spend was swallowed down. And, holy shit, it just kept coming, tidal wave after tidal wave of glorious release. Reyes, bless his cotton socks, just gave Scott the biggest, most awesome orgasm he'd ever had.

But then the sensations didn't stop. He was oversensitive and going soft, but Reyes kept his mouth in place, humming into his tender flesh, kept drumming his fingers inside of Scott. It still felt fucking good. It also started to hurt. But not a bad hurt. Reyes didn't let Scott go and he was hard again in moments.  _Shit, what the fuck._  It was different this time, though. Reyes sucked and swallowed him down, fingers writhing inside, until Scott felt that tingle start in his stomach. He twitched and Reyes picked up the speed of his bobbing head. Scott was allowed to come right away this time, and shit that was nice. 

Expecting it to be over, Scott let out a fatigued sigh and hummed down at Reyes. "C'mere." But Reyes didn't stop. Scott was a bundle of raw nerves down there and was getting uncomfortable. Reyes' response was to add a fourth finger to Scott's hole, drumming faster. Mouth sucking painfully hard and coaxing Scott back to full attention. Scott gasped and started pleading with him, pulling futilely at his cuffed wrists. "Nononononono don't. Oh, shit."  Reyes was merciless. He started pounding his fingers in and out at what Scott was certain was faster than light speed. His hips jerked violently back and forth with the pace, but Reyes mouth never once lost hold. And then Scott was coming yet again. And Reyes kept on going, yet again. By the fourth time Scott came, he was screaming at the top of his lungs, his face and neck hot pink with exertion. Then, Reyes finally, very gently, disengaged. Scott was balling like a baby. He was so glad for a moments respite, but at the same time didn't want it to end. 

After a few moments of Reyes tenderly kissing Scott's belly and running hands up and down his skin, Reyes leaned back with a wicked grin. Scott was starting to catch his breath and was able to see straight again, only to realize that Reyes was still hard. The night was far from over. Reyes grabbed Scott's hips in a bruising grip and lined himself up. Scott was still drenched from the pure amount of saliva and spend that flooded the area, so Reyes was able to slam himself home without any coaxing. This is what Scott had really been waiting for. His voice was nearly gone from all the screaming Reyes already caused, but Scott managed to let out another wail. "Oh, god fuck!"

Reyes pulled out and flipped Scott to his belly, which was awkward for Scott with his wrists cuffed above his head. The chain of the cuffs crisscrossed as he was flipped, causing his wrists to be wedged painfully against the intricately carved wood of the headboard. He would definitely have bruises for weeks. Then Reyes grabbed his hair, pulling his head back as he re-entered Scott with a hard thrust, immediately setting up a punishing pace. 

Reyes grabbed his hips, forcing Scott to his knees, slamming his face firmly into the mattress. Scott's arms stretched uncomfortably over his head, and every time Reyes pulled out, he pulled Scott back with him, making him feel like he was being ripped in two on a rack. And then Reyes would slam back in forcing Scott's back to arch, sometimes lifting his knees right off the bed. It hurt. bad. Except for every few thrusts, Reyes would hit that spot and ecstasy would mingle briefly with the pain. Then suddenly, without warning, Scott came a fifth time. It was mostly dry at this point, surely his little swimmers would take  _days_ to replenish after everything Reyes had done to him. Dry or not, it was still damned amazing. Unconsciously, Scott clamped himself tight around Reyes as he howled through his spend, causing the other man to let out a string of choice expletives as he came as well. 

Reyes collapsed on top of Scott, crushing him flat against the mattress, giving a few last half-hearted thrusts of his groin. He breathed heavy, the air tickling Scott's ear drum at each exhale. "I missed you."

"I missed you," Scott parroted, then wiggled to let Reyes know he needed to move.

Reyes lifted his body off of Scott, then gently helped him flip to his back, his cuffed wrists gaining a small amount of freedom, allowing him to relax into the bed finally. Scott sighed at the release of pressure to his arms.

Reyes gingerly fingered the skin around Scott's wrists, then gave a tender kiss, but made no move to unlock him.

"Where did you go?" 

Scott's eyes widened briefly. Seriously? Reyes was gonna keep him cuffed while they had this chat? No fucking fair. Scott wiggled his arms around the cuffs and tried to sit up straighter to feel less prone, but Reyes put a hand on his chest and kept him flat.

Scott's breath hitched. "What are you doing, Shena?"

"Please, tell me." Reyes voice was calm and his eyes were clear, if a little fucked out, so Scott mentally agreed to go over this again since it didn't seem like Reyes would blow off the handle.

"I was investigating a remnant site. There were observers everywhere, so I had to take my time. You have no idea how dangerous those little bots can be, especially when they're en masse like that..."

Reyes squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in disbelief. Scott balked at his reaction, cutting his story off short.

Why didn't anyone ever believe him? Reyes of all people should believe him. Evfra said he was a good contact. Evfra said! And the man lived on Kadara, for fuck sake, remnant ruins all over the damn place. Scott felt a tear leak from his eye. Reyes just didn't trust him. Reyes still thought Scott was off fucking everyone in the port. _Fine_. Next time he would! He'd just go be some fuck-whore floozy and spread his legs for anyone who snapped a bill his way. If that's what Reyes thought, then Scott would rub it right the fuck in his stupid face!

"Shh shh, don't cry." Scott hadn't realized that he had let out a full stream of hurt little tears, gasping sobs escaping his lips. Reyes was stroking his hair back from his forehead, gently consoling.

Scott snapped himself out of his stupid little cry baby fit. He's been a good boy, no reason to cry. And Reyes just fucked him like a machine, so that meant he was still loved. Scott jerked his head away from Reyes' touch to look him dead in the eyes. He took a deep breath and continued on.

"I found the tech I was looking for, Shena. I sold it to an interested party. An Asari called pelessaria. She had been hounding me to collect more pieces for her and she always pays really well...and, uh... yes, she wanted to have sex, but I didn't! I swear!" 

Scott was getting butterflies in his stomach at the look Reyes was giving him. Scott has gotten that look before. One time, that look landed him in a high security loony bin on the Citadel that took him three years to escape. No. Nonononono! Scott started to panic. 

"Look under the bed! I have proof! Please, don't send me back to the Citadel, I'm not lying, look!" Tears shamelessly fell from Scott's eyes again. He didn't care. "Please believe me! Please, just look!"

Reyes sighed, then grudgingly acquiesced, sliding off the edge of the bed to crouch down and look beneath. A moment later, he stood up, duffel bag in hand and a puzzled look on his face. He threw the bag onto the bed, then unzipped it. His face drained of all it's glorious golden color as he stared down at the contents. "Where..."

Scott knew Reyes was about to ask him where he had gotten it. Scott already told him _where!_ How fucking redundant does this story need to be? He squinted death beams out of his eyes, pointed right at Reyes. 

Instead Reyes asked, "How much?"

"1.2 mil"

Reyes stared at Scott, face blank for several minutes, then deadpanned, "No shit, huh?"

Then Reyes was bent over laughing. Laughing so hard that he had to clutch his side and was gasping for air, making ridiculous little honking sounds. It was Scott's turn to look at him like he was off his nut. 

"Can you take these off? My arms are falling asleep." Scott rattled the cuffs above his head to get Reyes to focus on Scott's bruised wrists for a moment.

Reyes cleared his throat and made a feeble attempt to collect himself, then rustled through the bedside table for what seemed like minutes, then resumed his laughter. Actually laughing harder this time, if that was possible. Reyes fell to his knees and let his head smack down on the table, rattling the lamp setting on top. Snorts of laughter unending.

Scott let out a frustrated growl. "What the fuck, Shena?!" Scott had to pee. He wanted out of these cuffs. "I have to pee. I want out of these cuffs!"

Reyes gasped out words in between fits of giggles, "Can't... find... the keys..."

Great. Mother-fucking-shit-eating-son-of-a-whore, great. 

 

 

 

 


	16. sweet release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELLLLLLL! I been working a bajillion hours each week and got a bit distracted reading some other stuff. Totz didn't mean to leave this for two months. Oops!  
> I'm not gonna say when the next chapter will be out, since I've not got the rest of part 1 outlined, but I'm gonna try and not leave it for another two months. THIS FIC WILL BE FINISHED EVEN IF IT KILLS ME! :D Cheers!

 

Reyes had been home two days when he woke up to his phone ringing.

Why the hell did he put a phone in the bedroom? He could blissfully ignore the world, even just for a while, if he got rid of the damned thing. Since the incident with Scott a week prior, Reyes had been sleeping close to 12 hours any given night, exhaustion, Valium, and whiskey making for an indispensable sleep aid. Grunting at the rude preamble to consciousness, Reyes glanced at the clock noting it was 8am. Well, normal people get up at 8, right? Shit. There goes his solid 12 for the night. Maybe he could take a nap later. The phone made another annoying peal, pulling him from his groggy reverie.

He gently untangled his limbs from a comatose Scott and sat up to answer, sliding his legs over the side of the bed. How Scott could sleep through that retched clanging was beyond Reyes early morning reasoning.

Reyes answered with a "hmmph".

_"It's John. Just wanted to keep you updated. Mo Chao's intel was spot on, a cargo container full of Russian girls was intercepted on its way to a warehouse in Queens."_

"Really, that's great John. Mo Chao is OK?"

_"Yeah, her and her daughter are in protective custody. The US Marshals will be taking over on their end... I'm sure this will be all over the news today, but I wanted to let you know first hand. We were able to apprehend several of the key players in Sloan's operation, but Sloan and Mr Vidal are still at large."_

A sudden thought occurred to Reyes.Tío knew where he was. Tío sent Mo Chao to him. Sloan's latest shipment was taken by the cops and Mo Chao was in protective custody. Shit. Would tío inform Sloan of Reyes' involvement, or did she already know? Was she in on this set up all along? Where they just trying to see what Reyes would do with the info Mo Chao had? Shit shit shit! News that tío Alejandro was in his city really addled his brain, he wasn't thinking at all when he called John. He just fucked himself over royally, and probably put both Scott and Keema in grave danger. A sudden sense of terror hit him right in the gut, like someone stabbing him repeatedly with a shiv. 

Reyes voice was weak as he relayed his thoughts back to the Captain. "What should I do?"

_"That though occurred to us as well. The US Marshals will have an undercover detail on you at all times, hoping to smoke at least one of the two out. If they make a move on you, they will be detained. One of the Marshals will come by Tartarus today to speak with you. We can grant you full immunity in this case for any previous wrong-doings, given who your family is, so don't worry about the marshals digging too deep. but Reyes?... Don't be a dick about it. If they see piles of drugs and guns, they have the power to rescind that offer. Keep your shit on the DL."_

"OK, John. I'll be at Tartarus strictly as a patron for the duration of the investigation. Thanks for the heads up." 

No biggie, Reyes could unload most of his product on Umi for little to no money and stow the guns somewhere safe. Scott had come home with a duffel bag full of cash, after all. It's not like they would go hungry if Reyes took a vacation.

The two men said their goodbyes, then Reyes slumped over and put his head in his hands, taking deep breaths and trying not to panic. The marshals could probably keep Sloan off his ass, but Mr Vidal was a wily one. He could be like a shadow if he wanted. He could easily come in and take him and Scott and no one would be the wiser.

Reyes got up and made his way to the bathroom medicine cabinet and popped open a bottle of Valium. Maybe if his anxiety got the best of him again, he could go back to the psych hospital where everything was locked down and safe. Well, safer. If tío really wanted, there wasn't any locked door that could keep him or his thugs from a mark. Reyes was terrified to go back to Cuba, and he was becoming certain that it was going to be an eventual inevitability. Tío wouldn't kill him. He would make sure Reyes never saw the light of day again, imprison him again, purely out of spite. Reyes popped an extra Valium, then stared at the bottle as he thought.

The first two years he lived under tío Alejandro's roof were complete misery. He fought his fate with every breath and was rewarded with a bedroom in the cellar with a chain on his ankle to keep him in his place. Alejandro said he was the son of a whore and was born to be nothing but a whore, and if he wouldn't accept his lot in life, then he would be chained like a dog and be forced into it.  Every day, tío would beat him into submission then have his way with him, then told he was worthless as he cried into spunk stained sheets.

Reyes always wondered why he ended up getting all the attention instead of his sister. Granted, she was born before his mother became one of tío's girls, so she wasn't necessarily destined to be a thrall of the Vidal household. She was out of the house, going to college, and working towards becoming a legal secretary by the time Reyes was 12. But considering how homophobic Cuba as a nation was, it left Reyes screaming "why me?" in his head on constant repeat. Reyes' only conclusion was tío's undeniable narcissism. Fucking Reyes was just like fucking himself, and to tío, tío was perfect. That could be the only explanation. That didn't keep his sister entirely off the radar, being the subject to some of Alejandro's darker whims the few occasions she was dragged to the estate during holidays. But for the most part, with the exception to a few unwanted sexual encounters, she was left alone to live her own life. _What a laugh. Thinking your sister got off light for only being raped a couple times. No big deal, pfft._

Reyes continued to stare down at the bottle of Valium in his hands. It was a new prescription, so the bottle was mostly full. If it came to it, Reyes would willingly die to avoid going back. It was just a matter of downing the whole bottle of pills and chasing it with a bottle of whiskey. Don't mix loads of benzos with loads of booze. The child's guide to suicide. Easy. But that raised the question of what Scott would do. He managed to keep himself alive for the last two years since escaping what he referred to as "The Citadel", but Scott had attached himself to Reyes and Reyes now felt he was his responsibility. He wouldn't let Scott fall into the hands of Alejandro Vidal. 

He could probably convince Scott to go with him when he died. They could go to heaven together and spend eternity in each others arms without the burden of the mortal coil. No fear, no pain, no Citadel or Cuban mafioso for a father. Scott would probably see it as another adventure and embrace the unknown with open arms. If it came to it, yes. Reyes would bring Scott with him.

A gentle hand on his elbow broke him from his reverie. Scott was looking at him with sad eyes that spoke of all the love and pain of the entire universe. On cue, speaking to his unspoken thoughts, Scott caressed him with tender words.

"It's not come to that yet, angel. The world isn't ready for us to leave." 

Scott's hand covered Reyes' and slipped the bottle of pills out of his fist. What did he do to deserve this perfect adoration? He wasn't a good person. He often took out his pain and frustration out on Scott with sex brutal enough to be on par with what he endured as a child. Or, like the week previous, with extreme violence in the form of a closed fist. Scott still had bruises on his throat where Reyes had strangled him. Nope, he was a horrible person and didn't deserve the affection. But for some reason, Reyes couldn't make himself give it up. He would go on feeling like shit, but keep Scott by his side for eternity.  For good or ill, they belonged to each other.

 

  

 

 


	17. Don't look (new 8/29/18)

The days dragged on like eternity. There were no sightings of Mr Vidal, which meant he was likely still in the city, lying low for the time. Reyes was certain that if he were to depart back to Cuba, there would have been mention of his face being seen around Havana, and word would have gotten back to the marshals. The uncertainty had Reyes in a constant state of jitters, making the hours tick by ever so slowly. Surely, they would hear something soon. But there hadn’t been a peep.

Until there was.

Two weeks after the raid on Sloan’s warehouse and the protective detail with the marshals began, Reyes awoke one morning to find a neatly folded piece of paper lying on Scott’s pillow. The lettering on the top was elegantly scrawled and instantly recognizable by Reyes. It read, “ _Cariño.”_

Scott had shifted during the night and was resting his head in the crook of Reye’s arm, face smooshed against his chest, breathing even and shallow. Reyes’ heart fluttered as he shifted his weight to reach the folded paper, trying to shimmy out from beneath Scott.

Big blue eyes framed with delicate black lashes stared up at him silently, full bottom lip pouting slightly at being jostled awake. Reyes still had one arm under Scott’s head, the rest of his body hovering over the boy as he reached beyond him to grab the paper. He paused before retreating back to his original position to lay a gentle kiss to Scott’s nose, appreciating the glowing beauty beneath him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over how just the sight of Scott made his pulse quicken.

“Go back to sleep.” Reyes purred comfortingly at the boy, but there must have been a shadow of fear on his face, for Scott lifted his hand to clamp around the letter in Reyes’ fist.

“Don’t read it.” Scott pulled Reyes’ clenched fingers to his lips and kissed him gently. “You don’t need to. Let it go.”

Scott was probably right. He really didn’t need to read the note. The fact that it was lying on his pillow when he woke up was message enough. “I can get to you whenever I want, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” But Reyes’ curiosity got the better of him.

“I have to.” Reyes pulled his hand away from Scott, clenching the note tight, but he didn’t open it. They just stared at each other for a moment, drinking each other in, like it was the last time they’d have the opportunity to memorize the others face.

Reyes wanted so badly to tell Scott he loved him, but the words wouldn’t come out. He should man up and just do it. The end was likely near for him, and he didn’t want Scott ever wondering if he was loved, because he was. So why couldn’t he just say something?

He wasn’t afraid that Scott wouldn’t say it back. Perhaps he was afraid that he WOULD say it back, knowing full well he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve to be loved by anyone, let alone by this wonderful, crazy, perfect boy. But, god he needed it. Just needed someone to reach out and tell him…

“Everything is going to be OK.” Scott cupped his face with his hand and gently wiped his thumb across Reyes’ cheek, drying tears he hadn’t realized had fallen. “Everything is going to be OK.”

 ---

Scott held on to Reyes for hours that morning, a softly consoling presence as he let out a lifetime of suffering, clutching the hated letter to his chest like it issued his death sentence. But eventually, the need to relieve themselves and eat breakfast forced the two of them apart for a time.

They made their way out to the kitchen, Reyes grudgingly tossing the piece of paper on the island as they prepared their breakfast. Scott sang a cheery tune Reyes didn't recognize, a few off key syllables escaping as he shook his ass in Reyes' direction. "I can't wait. B-b-babay! I just can't wait..." Reyes huffed out a small laugh, grateful at Scott's ability to make him smile. Once everything was ready, they sat together at the island, drank coffee and ate toast with mangoes as Reyes stared at the crumpled note resting there, taunting him. He sighed, then finally unfolded it. He knew deep down he wasn't safe, but with Scott here, he somehow felt like he was. At least for the time being. He'd read what tio had to say, tell the marshals they were doing a shit job, then deal with the rest of the day as each situation arose.

  ** _-I’ve missed you. It’s time to come home._**

Reyes crumpled the note and threw it across the room towards the garbage pail. “Not today, motherfucker. Not today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott's song of the day: "I can't wait" by Nu Shooz  
> (One of my faves from when I was little, btw)


	18. Part Two: Scott and the Lost Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sloan sends Reyes a message. Everything shatters apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: *Please note that this is where everything starts to get incredibly dark. The following chapters are full of graphic violence and torture, rape and suicidal thoughts. And the downward spiral all starts with a hate crime. If you're not ok with everyone getting hurt, I advise you to stop here, and I hope you enjoyed the relatively carefree and bubbly Scott and Co. from the previous chapters.
> 
> There's quite a bit more I'll be adding to part one, but I wanted to get posted what I've got written up so far. Over the next few weeks, I'll be inserting additional chapters on John, Gil, Sloan Kelly, and Umi. I have a lot outlined, but they aren't fully written yet. So here starts part two, a bit prematurely.  
> 

**Part 2: Scott and the Lost Boys**

_You learn to ride the Earth when you're living on your belly -Kate Bush_

  -----------------------------------------------

**July 15, 1985**

 

Scott walked alone in thought. When Reyes had business to attend to, he sometimes wandered off to take in the sights of New York, Walkman in his pocket, getting lost in music. He usually found himself in Manhattan, taking naps in the park and feeding the birds food he had pilfered from patios at nearby restaurants. He frequently found himself checking pier 86. Suvi and Kallo had gone south for the winter, promising they would return to see him after the thaw, but alas, they had not yet returned. He hoped they would soon.

His birthday was two days ago, and he was still lost in his reminiscence. Keema had given him the most wonderful gift. She had snuck one of his sketches from the loft and had it silk screened onto a t-shirt. It was one of his many drawings of Reyes, haloed in light by the morning star. Luci, the light-bringer. Above the image in blocky, dripping letters read, “I love Luci”. It looked like a proper punk rock band t-shirt, only those who knew the couple got the meaning behind it. He cherished it and cherished Keema. She had also brought him back a collection of British new wave tape cassettes from her last trip to London that hadn’t hit America yet. Icing on the cake!

He walked along smiling, face lifted to catch the rays of warm July sun landing on his face, Erasure playing in his ears. _Thank you for this treasure, Keema._ He remembered almost everything from the last year so clearly, almost forgetting what it was like to lose himself for more than a few hours. According to Reyes and Keema, they were only aware of one other personality that occasionally took over now, the young hero from the future out to save humanity from the Kett. All said and done, he didn’t mind sharing his body with him, he seemed like a pretty rad guy, even if he was a massive slut. If only the two Scotts could share their memories with each other.

Scott looked up to the sky, the sun beginning to cast magnificent shades of pink and orange through the clouds; it would be dark soon. He lingered, dreaming up towards the heavens for a moment, then decided to start making his way back to Brooklyn. He took in his surroundings, not a clue to where he really was. But, if he knew New York, he knew that if he walked around a bit longer, he would inevitably pass a subway station and be able to find himself from there. With a smile and a light step, he continued moving, humming along to his new music. " _I try to discover... A little something to make me sweeter..."_

There looked to be a busier street off to his left a couple blocks down, so he turned into the alley he was about to pass and took a shortcut to the next street over. Midway down the alley, he felt pressure on the back of his skull, felt ringing in his ears that drowned out the chipper music of Erasure, then realized he was on his hands and knees. _How’d I get down here?_ His headphones fell from his ears, allowing him to take in sound from the street again. He heard malicious laughter from a crowd of people behind him. His head hurt.

“Hey faggot, I’m talking to you”

He gingerly felt the back of his head. With a hiss he pulled his fingers away, slick with blood. He felt confused, heard shouting all around him, but wasn’t really hearing what the voices were saying. He was just starting to shake off the cloud from his mind when a boot came crashing into his ribs, stealing breath from his body, doubling him over. He struggled for a moment for sweet breath, then gasped out a cry of pain. Another kick landed where the last one had hit, this time knocking him over onto his side with a grunt.

He made out a few of the shouts as he laid there taking blows from a million kicking feet, eyes unfocussed and trying to remain distant. _Can I breathe? I can breathe._ He heard their screams like muted thunder, miles off in the distance. _Pretty as a girl… that’s him, alright… the boy-fucker Sloan told us about… Tell Reyes to keep his whores out of Queens… I hear you like dick, I got a big one for ya… send Reyes a message…_ wicked laughter _._

He came out of his haze to being dragged to the side of the alley by his hair, back scraping on the gravel, feet kicking, then tossed like a doll behind a dumpster. He cried out as two of the thugs held his arms down while another restrained one of his legs. A fourth set of hands started ripping at his clothes, undoing his pants. There must have been at least six people surrounding him, those not touching him laughing like demonic _things_. Panic started rising in his chest, more suffocating than any of the blows to his ribs had been. He screamed as hands tore at him, held him down, made him paralyzed. Words came out of his mouth, but he didn’t recognize them. He thought it might be ‘please don’t’ or ‘no’, but he was so filled with terror, he couldn’t be sure.

He felt something rank and slimy being shoved into his mouth to stifle his frantic cries. A discarded banana peel. When that proved not enough to silence him, it was followed by an old rag that smelled of kerosene and tasted of shame. Powerful hands held the items down in his mouth, crushing the base of his skull to the ground. He couldn’t move his head to see what was happening around him. He felt slicing pain cut into his ribs and struggled anew with the sensation, trying to cry out. Then something was stabbing repeatedly, and he felt a trickle of blood slide down his side. Tears falling, more slicing, as if they were carving a message into his flesh, now across his arms and chest, his shirt ripped in two. He screamed louder into the mouthful of detritus, struggled to escape as fiercely as he could, but was ultimately subdued.

His pants were yanked down to his thighs and his free, struggling leg was grabbed roughly and yanked up and over the side of someone’s shoulder, haunches held firmly in place against a solid chest by brutish arms. And then without mercy, the man, the beast, tore into him. A new wave of pain hit him, eyes bulging, Scott threw up in his mouth but was forced to swallow it back down around the putrid garbage already filling him. A vicious serious of rapid thrusts began, he felt himself tearing, the pain leaving him unable to breath. His muted screams and futile struggles picked up in intensity; it seemed to last an aeon. He tried to focus on the pain in his wrist, a knee was crushing it to the ground and he was certain at least one of the bones was broken by now. And then a large, rusted nail was driven through his hand. It felt like solace.  

Something burned his thigh, a cigarette put out on his flesh. He felt more burning on his hip as the brutal, heaving monster inside him continued his depravities, a lighter held up to exposed flesh. The smell of cooking meat filled his nose. His wails would have curdled blood had he not been gagged. Scott finally lost consciousness from the pain coming at him simultaneously from all directions. A reprieve, alone in the void, no sensations, calm. Then he was slapped back awake.  _There’s our princess… don’t want you dead yet…_

They only gave him a moment of respite to keep him conscious, to be sure he’d feel all they had to dole out. The fetid refuse was no longer in his mouth, but he was too weak to raise his voice louder than a soft cry, larynges abused to the point of forced silence. The man inside him pulled away then he felt something hot and sticky hitting his face in spurts, he feebly tried to turn his head away, resigned to laying his cheek in a pool of semen and tears. Someone else took the man’s place, someone bigger and more viscous. A strangled breathy scream managed to escape his throat as he was flipped to his stomach and the second sadistic snake slithered inside him, trying to mangle him to pulp with the power of its manhood. Scott tried to focus on the beauty of alliteration as his face was slammed to the concrete, blood escaping his nose and mouth.

Scott lost track of the brutality done to his body from then out, except to note when the two girls took a turn with him, and he realized he’d never known true sadism until then. It felt like it went on for days, weeks, years. And when the gang finally got bored of torturing him, well into the blackness of evening, he was pulled upright to useless feet. They had to hold him in place or he would surely fall back to the hard, welcome ground. His head was forced back, and a rope was tied around his neck. He watched from a distance, in a semi-conscious daze, as someone threw the end of it over the fire escape 8 feet above them. Something was carved into his forehead. He didn’t care. “ _Luci, I’m sor…”_

He was hoisted up, feet barely kicking, useless hands scrabbling for the rope. Torn jeans, soaked in blood, hung about his thighs.  A baseball bat thwacked him across the midsection several times and a blade slid across the side of his neck just below the rope, a final “fuck you,” then the thugs fled, whooping and laughing into the night. Eternity passed as his kicking slowly subsided and limp hands fell to his side, blood pooling below his dangling feet. His body gently swung in the night breeze.

As he felt the welcome hand of death brush his face, he had a vision of the dawn. Lucifer, the morning star, shined on him like the sun. Venus, the light-bringer, rose above the horizon, it’s glowing warmth embraced him. The fire escape above him shifted and the rope came loose. He fell to the ground and welcomed the void. _Breathe_

At 1am, a homeless man stumbled by, watching the boy’s bleeding, mangled body fall from its make-shift gallows as a group of hoodlums fled the far side of the alley. He stole his Walkman and a 5-dollar bill from his pocket, then ran off for help. 20 minutes later Scott was in the back of an ambulance, en route to the New York-Presbyterian hospital in Queens. He died on the way there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A side note: Scott either mentions or thinks about Lucifer a lot in this work. It's not meant to be Satanic, not at all, it's just the way he's able to wrap his head around things.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is mention of the injuries sustained from the torture Scott went through in medical context, but nothing explicitly graphic. Use of anti-gay vocabulary.

**July 16, 1985**

 

The world was a fog… _unlikely he’ll regain consciousness… victim of a hate crime… massive blood loss, slit wrists and throat… blood transfusions…_

He heard disembodied voices… _took a severe beating, internal bleeding and a punctured lung… multiple surgeries… cerebral edema… May be permanent brain damage…_

Who was talking? The voices sounded like they were under water… _sodomized, anal trauma and rectal perforations… multiple 3 rd degree burns and lacerations to his upper body and genitals…_

Hello? _It’s best if you prepare to say goodbye…_

Goodbye.

\-----------

Keema was preparing herself for a fabulous luncheon with the Calvin Klein PR team when her phone rang. They were going to go over details of an event they would be co-hosting, a charity ball and silent auction for the make-a-wish foundation, her sitting in as the proxy for Yves’ personal rep, as she often did. Regardless of how frequently she was part of the big game, it still gave her a thrill when her talents were put to use in this capacity. Keema sashayed to the phone in her dressing room, her favorite summer dress swishing against her calves, hand crafted specifically for her by Yves talented protégé, Christian Lacroix, expecting the call to be some minor detail for the meeting to come. “ye-es?” her accent making it a multisyllabic word, an unspoken ‘darling’ hanging at the end.

She stared in growing horror as the voice on the other end of the line spoke. The blood leached from her face as she dropped the phone. Running to a small garbage bin near her vanity, she promptly threw up everything she had ever eaten. She slowly walked back to the phone and put the receiver back up to her ear. “You still there? … Where is he, can I see him? …Yes, I’m family! … I’m on my way.”

She screeched for the woman who came in to do the daily tidying, hoping to god she hadn’t left yet. The woman, Greta, peaked her head around the corner in a flurry. Keema left her with instructions to cancel all meetings and to get Reyes to Queens Presbyterian ASAP. “My rolodex and planner are there!” she pointed as she rushed out the door of her condo, ringing the bell for a driver to meet her on her way out.

The drive from the upper east side to Auburndale took precisely three million and five years. Humans died out and a new form of intelligent species evolved by the time her chauffer pulled into the drop off zone of the hospital. She called Reyes four times on the way and Tartarus twice, but he was nowhere to be found. Hopefully that meant Greta got through to him and he was already there. She was idly thankful on her insistence of putting the damned phone in the car. It got horrible reception, as these mobiles were so new. It was hardly worth it, but she was grateful for it now. Not that it did her any good, but she had tried at the least and was able to leave a message.

As she threw open the door of the back seat and ran to the entrance, she remembered the voice on the phone, _A young man was brought in, no ID. This number was in his pocket…_

She tried to remember the name they had all agreed on should he ever be picked up. Josh Anderson? No. Almost… Justin Parker! Her heart was racing as she approached the information desk. “I was called about a John Doe, young man in critical condition, came in last night! His name is Justin Parker, I’m his sister-in-law… Please, where is he?!” The nurse gave her directions to critical care and gave her a pass to enter the secured area, only family allowed.

She rushed down the hall before the pass was barely in her hands. As she approached the doors, she tried to compose herself. Even distraught she still knew she looked like a million dollars, but it wouldn’t do to become hysterical, wouldn’t help Scott or Reyes. Feeling sick to her stomach, she swallowed, then went in, searching for a doctor.

 ----------

There were two policemen taking a statement from one of the nurses as she quietly entered. Keema approached cautiously, trying to overhear what they were saying. “…were the words carved?” The nurse pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Die faggot. Queer… mostly superficial, linear cuts.” Keema lost part of the words as a voice buzzed over the intercom. She paid it no mind as she moved closer, wanting to hear. “… injuries required emergency surgery… Punctured lung, internal abdominal bleeding, brain swelling, rectal and colon perforations with sepsis… multiple stab wounds…” “… Throat was cut?” “Yes, missed his jugular by 2 centimeters, lucky he didn’t bleed out...”

”We’ll need to take photographic evidence as soon as he’s been stabilized,” one of the cops was saying as Keema finally joined them.

“I… know him. His name is Justin Parker… I came as soon as I got the call. Will he be all right?” She had tears in her eyes.

The cop flipped through his notebook. “You are… Keema?” She nodded. “Last name and date of birth.”

_Fucker!_ “I’ll answer your questions once I know what happened! Where is he? Can I see him?”

The nurse put a hand on her shoulder, “He’s still in surgery, he took a severe beating and there was a lot of damage…”

“How long until I can see him?” She cut the nurse off.

“It will be some time yet before we know if his surgery was successful. I’ll send the doctor to speak with you as soon as they’re finished.” Keema was directed to a waiting area around the corner from the nurse’s station. The cops followed her to take a statement.

She zoned out during their questioning and couldn’t recall the exact answers she gave them, but knew she stuck to the story they had crafted in the case anything should ever happen. Justin Parker, age 20, orphaned, her and Reyes took him in a year ago. Mostly the truth, but Scott wasn’t someone they were willing to lose to the system should his real name or date of birth set up red flags anywhere. They gave her a card and told her they would call her if any of the culprits were apprehended, should Scott be awake and fit enough to identify them. She took a mental note to speak with them later about details of the crime scene.

When the cops finally left, Keema sat in the waiting area. And sat and waited…


	20. Chapter 20

Reyes had been making a few house calls that afternoon, as he occasionally did for long term, regular customers. It was a lucrative day so far and he felt good, though he was slightly worried after Scott. On the rare occasion he’d disappear for a day or two, but when he returned he always had some sort of treasure in hand. He once came home with a diamond and sapphire necklace for Keema, god only knows where he procured _that._ Reyes suspected there was a master thief lurking in Scott’s head somewhere, and the thought of what grand heist he was involved in right now made him smile. Maybe this time there would be a Van Gogh gracing their living room walls, to be hung next to the Vermeer that suddenly appeared several months ago. Reyes had read in the paper the following morning that it had been stolen from a private collector, but there was no insight into the identity of the burglar. When he asked Scott about it, he just smiled and sang, “I’ll never tell…”

It was 5pm when he finally made his way back to Tartarus, laughing at his thoughts. As soon as he entered, Kian waved him over. “Keema’s been trying to get ahold of you all day! Scott’s been hurt.” _Shit._ The smile left his face.

Kian gave him the location and he left without a second thought. He hailed down a cab and headed to Auburndale, Queens. It wasn’t far from Bushwick, in any other city it would have been a twenty-minute drive, but this was New York rush hour. It wasn’t until 7pm that he arrived at his destination.

 ---

Reyes cracked the door to Scott’s recovery room, held his breath, then entered. His heart sank. Scott was hooked up to a thousand machines, a large tube down his throat, other tubes hooked up to anchors near his collarbone. More tubes running to IV’s in both arms.  Bandages covered his head from his eyebrows up, more bandages covering his neck and arms. Any exposed skin was covered in wicked bruises, a disturbing polychromatic display. The bed linens were pulled up to cover Scott to his chest, arms resting outside the blankets. But based on the angles jutting beneath, Reyes suspected the lower portion of his body was just as mangled and wrapped. The left side of Scott’s face was so purple and swollen, he barely recognized his young paramour.

Keema was there, holding Scott’s hand, her face red and puffy from long hours of crying. Her cheeks were dry now, but she looked exhausted as she gazed up at him. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes when she saw him. Reyes was about to ask what happened when her arms were suddenly around him, squeezing the air from his lungs. He hugged her back, minutes passing, unable to take his eyes from Scott’s mutilated frame. Eventually he spoke, “what happened to him?” His voice cracked.

Keema filled him in, or tried to. “They’re saying it was a hate crime... He was… they r-r-r… he…” She couldn’t bring herself to speak the details of his assault out loud, and after some stuttering, gave up and broke down into tears, letting Reyes hold and comfort her. “They said he might not wake up,” she wailed. “We should be prepared to say goodbye. H-h-he keeps having seizures and flatlining…”

Reyes held on to her for a time, then instructed her to go find some food. He wanted to sit alone with Scott. No doctor had been in since he arrived, so he still had no idea what happened, though he got the jist of it by Keema’s inability to say. He settled for looking at the chart kept at the foot of Scott’s bed. He grabbed it and sat it the chair Keema just vacated.

Reyes felt surprisingly numb as he started to read. His face darkening as he continued down the long list of injuries. Scott was on dialysis until renal function was restored, and would be shitting into a colostomy bag until the trauma to his colon and rectum was healed. Treated for sepsis. He was breathing through a ventilator, the damage to his lung was severe, though the bone shard was successfully removed. Transplant deemed unnecessary, pro tem.  Trepanation to relieve cerebral edema, possible long-term effects, coma, brain damage, seizures, loss of motor function. fractured orbital socket, fractured ilium and pelvis, fractured carpals, surgery pending. Multiple instances of cardiac arrest, resuscitation required.

There was more, but Reyes couldn’t continue. He lowered the railing on the bed so he could lean over and rest his head next to Scott’s and stayed like that, heart hallow and eyes unblinking, until the medical staff came in to check on him.

 ---

“No seizing in over five hours, that’s a good sign. It means the swelling in his brain has gone down and we can be more optimistic that he’ll eventually regain consciousness. We can determine at that time if there is any permanent brain damage, but it’s safe to remain hopeful in the meantime.”

Reyes let out a breath. “Por favor. Despierta…” He whispered. “How long do you think it will take?”

“I’m sorry, we really can’t give you an estimate on that. We’ve done all we can to stabilize him, now it’s up to Justin.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes and Keema find solace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a super short chapter, but I think it was needed to get a sense of where peoples heads are at.

 

**July 30, 1985**

 

Reyes had spent several days at the hospital with Scott, but at the insistence of Keema, they set up a rotation of people to sit in his room with him while he slept so Reyes could tend to himself. Umi, of all people, had volunteered her day off to stay with him. She pretended to hate him, but like everyone else, she loved the shit out of Scott. He called her his unicorn. Reyes was on the phone with her, checking in for signs of improvement.

Keema was with him at the loft he shared with Scott, making him dinner while he fretted. It was driving him nuts not being there, but he agreed it would do no one any good if he didn’t eat, sleep, and shower on occasion.

“He’s still not awake.” Reyes looked lost. He hung up the receiver.

Keema stopped chopping her vegetables to stroke a hand through his wavy brown hair. “shhhh.” She pulled him into a hug. “He will. Soon. We’ll have our boy back and the world will be right again.”

He wasn’t sure how it happened, but both himself and Keema needed solace, closeness, release. They found themselves intertwine on Reyes’ bed, clothing strewn to the floor, tangled in carnal embrace.

It had been a year since he last had sex with Keema, both the familiarity and alien-ness of it made for a disquieting juxtaposition. He moved inside her with urgency, necessity, and desperation. And when he finally came, he rolled to his back and away from her, shoving her aside, not caring if she arrived at the same finale.

He grabbed a pillow, covered his face, and screamed. uncontrollably, inconsolable.

He felt alone, abandoned, desolate.

He screamed and wept until exhaustion took him, a funereal wail that woke the dead and promised apocalypse upon the world, a flood of tears that threatened so submerge the whole of the land. Keema was wrong, nothing would be right again.

 -----

Silent as a ghost, Keema donned her shift, then slipped unheard from the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Before she made it three steps, she slid her back down the wall and sat on the floor, head in hands, listening to Reyes scream himself to sleep. She was so depressed, she considered taking her own life.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott wakes up and goes home.

**August 12, 1985**

 

Reyes got the call that Scott was awake. He dropped everything and headed for Queens. He thought he may have forgotten to lock the door, but it didn't matter.

When he arrived at the hospital, there were police questioning Scott. "Truly I was born to be an example of misfortune, and a target at which the arrows of adversary are aimed." Reyes overheard Scott quoting Cervantes as he walked into the room. He had been reading Don Quixote to the sleeping boy on the nights he stayed with him over the last two weeks. Apparently people in coma's did hear what you said.

Scott's eyes lit up as Reyes entered. The bandages were removed from his head, the holes in his skull from trepanning patched up, though the side of his head was now shaved. An ugly jagged scar was forming on his forehead where an uglier word had been carved, 'FAG'. Reyes felt sick, but Scott's eyes were hopeful, expectant, so he quickly walked over and took the chair next to his bed, then leaned over to kiss him gently, not wanting to hurt him.

"Sorry to interrupt," he told the cops, "Please, continue."

"Was there anything else you remember? Anything any of them said?"

Scott looked inward for a moment, shaking his head, "It's all fuzzy still. The words, I mean... I remember... Sloan? Someone mentioned Sloan."

Reyes darkened, but kept his mouth shut. This was not a matter to involve the cops in. He tuned out the rest of the conversation, secretly plotting his revenge. _A bullet to the head? No, too quick. She'd have to be killed slowly._

A hand resting on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. "Sir?" 

"Sorry, what?"

"Justin will be staying with you, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Here's my card, please contact us if he remembers anything else."

The cops left.

Scott grinned over at him. "I think I like my new haircut, I'll have Keema do something cool with it. I'll be like one of those guys from the music videos!"  _MTV junkie._ Reyes rolled his eyes.

 

Scott spent the next two weeks in the rehab ward getting daily physical therapy. He seemed to be healing quickly and bouncing back to health in short order. His stoma was scheduled to be closed in another week, something that thrilled Scott to no end, "No more shitting into a bag!" Dialysis would need to continue for an hour every day until further notice, but Keema was in the process of renting a machine to keep at home so Scott wouldn't have to come back for each session.

The medical staff informed Reyes that Scott was likely suffering a form of PTSD, having mood swings and complete shifts in personality. He had expected as much and assured them it wouldn't be a problem to have him at home. 

August 26th, Scott was released from the hospital and sent home with Reyes, a full prescription for antibiotics, and a slew of barbiturates and pain killers. 

The young lovers were optimistic at first, but optimism is callow. Something they would learn in short order. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Reyes do not have a healthy relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bit of sick and twisted here. Non/con, violence, abuse and seriously dysfunctional love. Be warned.

**October 30, 1985**

 

It had been exactly three months. Reyes was having vivid nightmares, every sick and twisted detail he had learned of the attack was warped into something even more appalling and sinister while he slept. He knew Scott was having nightmares, as well. They had too many sleepless nights, both afraid to close their eyes lest the horrific beasts return to take their minds.

Scott had been slipping back into a state of alternate reality almost constantly, shifting to a different person upwards of twenty times in any given day. The boy he had grown so fond of over the last year was rarely present, sometimes replaced by a quivering shell of a human, sometimes replaced by a being of unspeakable rage and violence. Most all the personalities Scott took on were either scared or angry, and more often than not acted like they barely knew Reyes.

It was weighing on him greatly. The last thing he wanted to do was abandon him or send him away, but Reyes’ presence wasn’t seeming to help. Keema often had a soothing effect on him, and she had agreed that Scott might do well at hers for a few weeks. She sweet talked her next-door neighbor, Dr. Nakamoto, into staying on-call with him when she had important meetings to attend.

Reyes had been waiting two days for Scott to become lucid enough to talk to about it. He didn’t want him waking up at Keema’s, not knowing why he wasn’t staying at home, it felt cruel. So, he waited.

Scott was curled up at the end of the small sofa they shared, sketching away happily, humming a nondescript tune to himself. His legs were lazily draped across Reyes, blue eyes occasionally darting up to look at him. Reyes suspected he was drawing another picture of him, and he was always amazed at how realistic they were.

“How are you today? Hips feeling any better?” Scott was scheduled to have the pins that helped hold his broken bones in place while they mended removed in three weeks. He still used crutches when he left the loft but was becoming pretty mobile again.

“I still ache, but it’s mostly better. Luci, I miss dancing. That stupid bag is gone now, doc said we can dance again soon. We will, right? Dance soon?” Scott set his sketch book down on the floor, and grimacing from the action, skootched his body in close to Reyes, resting his head in the crook of his shoulder.

“We’ll dance soon. I promise…” It was now or never, it might be another few days or even weeks before he got the opportunity to talk to him again.

“Keema said she wanted to have you over for a while.”

Scott bubbled, “Are we having a party?”

Reyes smiled sadly and kissed the top of his head, “hopefully many!... We thought… she said you could move in, live there. For a while.”

Scott moved his head back and looked at Reyes. His brow furrowed, eyes glittering. “For a while. Please do be specific,” his tone was both hurt and angry. Scott squeezed his hand on Reyes’ arm, fingernails digging into his skin, making him grunt. But he made no move to remove the grip.

Reyes sighed and broke his eyes away, “Your body might be healing, but your head isn’t. I think being around me has made you worse. And I think… I must take a step back. I can’t… I just can’t. You should go. At least until we can find what’s going to best help you.”

Scott stood up gingerly, clearly in pain, and started pacing with a limp. “So, you’re kicking me out? I’m with _you,_ Luci, since time began, until the world ends! I need you… How is leaving going to help?” Cerulean pools shone with diamonds as his eyes welled up.

 “It’s for both of us! I’m forced to sit by and watch while monsters take over your body and try to destroy everything! I don’t think you can understand how hard this has been on me.” Reyes stood up and walked over to where Scott was pacing, putting his hands on his shoulders to stop his motion.

Scott pushed him off. “Hard on you?! I was tortured and mutilated! I only have one fucking testicle now!” Scott pushed him again, yelling louder. “I was held down and fucked up the ass with a broken off table leg! Hard on you?! I remember everything!” The last came out as a scream. Scott gave Reyes a full armed slap.

Reyes’ ears rang with the blow and something in him snapped. Before he could stop himself, he had Scott slammed against the wall, fore arm pinning the boy in place, putting pressure on his throat, his other hand covered Scott’s mouth, keeping his head firmly locked to the wall. Reyes growled, a sound meant for himself, at how sick he was with himself right now, but it came out feral and threatening.

Scott was frozen, eyes as wide as saucers, filled with panic; a deer in the headlights. He was whimpering beneath Reyes’ vice like grip over his mouth, breathing heavily and unevenly through his nose. Scott’s entire body trembled in terror.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck!!!” Reyes screamed the word at the top of his lungs. Scott flinched at the sound, he seemed to be preparing for a blow.

Reyes let go of the boy and gently ran his fingers across his brow, gingerly touching the pink welted scar across his forehead. ‘FAG’. Scott flinched again at the touch, frightened tears falling from his eyes, lip quivering. Reyes sighed and turned away, leaving the shaking boy be. He walked to the phone in the kitchen to call Keema, sliding a resigned hand through his hair. She had said she would send a driver to pick Scott up whenever he was ready. He heard Scott shuffle off to the bedroom and close the door softly behind himself.

_Hello?_ “Hi, Keema… I talked to him. Sort of…” _How did he take it?_ “Not well, it was a shitshow. I think I just did more damage…” _It’ll take time, darling. For both of you. How are you holding up?_ “I’m fine… no, I’m not fine. Scott’s not fine. I miss him, and I ruined the only lucid moment I’ve had with him in days.”

He heard Keema sigh over the other line. _I’ll send a car over in two hours. That should give you enough time to make things right. He’ll understand, Reyes._ They said their goodbyes, then Reyes hung up the receiver. He plopped down on the stool next to the island and planted his head in his hands while he thought. _Shit, shit, shit… I can’t do this._

After a few minutes of self-loathing, he heard a loud bang and rattling from other room, like a drawer being slammed shut. He lifted his head, then wearily made his way to the bedroom, stopping in the bathroom to prepare Scott’s Nembutal in case he had “shifted” into someone needing chemical restraint again. He capped the syringe, then pocketed it, not wanting to frighten Scott if it was still him in there.

 He cracked the door and poked his head inside, “Scott? You ok?”

Reyes felt the blow to his head before he even laid eyes on Scott. Stars swam in his eyes as he tried to get his bearings, but within a moment, powerful arms had him restrained, his own arms yanked behind him and cuffed in the small of his back. He heard the metal clicking shut as his head started to clear. They were too tight and would surely leave wicked bruises.

He tried turning, but Scott was suddenly there in front of him and he was being slammed down onto his back, the bed bouncing underneath him as he landed. As his body came down on his cuffed wrists, he cried out and tried shifting his weight. But then Scott was jumping up onto the bad, straddling his waist so he couldn’t move. The extra weight sent a shock of pain up his wrist to his elbow. So much for the Nembutal.

“Shit! Scott, what the fuck are you doing! Let me…” His words trailed off. Scott pulled a gun out of the back of his jeans and had it pointed at Reyes’ face. Colt Python long barrel, .357 magnum, Reyes recognized the weapon. He had no idea where the boy had gotten it, as he had stopped keeping firearms of any kind at the loft. Not since Scott started becoming violent.

Scott brushed Reyes’ lips with the end of the barrel. His eyes were glossy, had a feverish light behind them, mouth curled in a sneer. “Tell me you’re mine…”

“Scott…”

“wrong answer.” He cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger. Click. An empty chamber.

Reyes flinched back. “Shit!! Not like this!”

“Like this?” Scott quickly cocked the hammer and put the gun up to his own head. Trigger squeezed, click. Another empty chamber. He started laughing. It was the most menacing sound Reyes had ever heard. He suspected that there were no bullets in any of the chambers, but he wasn’t willing to bet his life or Scott’s to call the bluff.

“Stop! Scott, stop!” Reyes struggled against his restraints and the weight of Scott on his chest, but he couldn’t get out of his position. The Colt was back in his face, he froze in place.

“Tell me you’re mine…” Hammer cocked.

Reyes was in a panic. _Please, let there be no bullets!_ “God! Yes! I’m yours, always.” Scott leaned over to kiss him. He could feel the gun firmly pressed against his temple. Reyes kissed him back as passionately as he could muster. “I love you,” he breathed, “and I can show you how much I love you... just put the gun away” Scott sat back up with that and whipped Reyes across the mouth with the revolver, splitting his lip open. He thought a tooth might have been knocked loose.

Scott growled, “You’re fucking pathetic. You’re nothing without me.” He leaned back down and put his face close to Reyes’. “You don’t love me.” He kissed the blood from Reyes’ mouth with a snaky tongue then hissed, voice dripping with venom, “The only thing you love is when you can slide your hard cock into my tight ass.” Scott bit Reyes’ bottom lip, then gave a mockingly playful suck. “And make me scream like a girl.” He kissed him again, rough and angry. “It’s your turn.”

Scott sat upright again and shifted his body down to undo the fly of Reyes’ pants. Reyes tried using the opportunity to wiggle out of his grip, but a wickedly powerful hand grabbed his throat and slammed his head back down. The gun pointed at his face, finger squeezing trigger, click. Empty chamber.

Reyes convulsed. “Scott! Put the gun down, stop! Anything you want, just stop this!”

Scott laughed. “Anything I want?” Scott sat back, lifted himself to his knees and removed Reyes’ belt. “Roll over.” Gun pointed, hammer cocked.

“Shit, shit, shit! Ok, ok” It took some struggling to roll over with his arms stuck to the small of his back and the limited space Scott had given him to maneuver. As soon as he was face down, Scott viciously ripped his pants down to his hips, tearing the fabric of the dark blue denim.  Reyes gritted his teeth as he buried his face into the mattress. “Shit!”

His head was ripped back by his hair and the belt was suddenly tight around his throat, he could feel Scott wrapping a hand around the ends with a firm grip, his neck craned awkwardly back from the motion. Then he felt cold wetness on his ass and Scotts free hand roughly working at his entrance, his muscles involuntarily constricted in attempt to keep the intruding digits out.

Scott laughed as he forced his fingers in. Reyes cried out, his voice awkward around the belt forcing his head back. “Please! Scott! Slow down!” He coughed. “I love you, I know you love me, but you’re hurting me!” More coughing and gasping around the belt.

The part of him that was still Scott must have been listening, because he started working slow and methodical, easing up on the belt so Reyes could rest his head back down with a grateful sob. But as soon as Scott’s shaft was firmly embedded within him as far as it could reach, the belt was pulled taught again, craning Reyes’ neck as far as it could go without breaking, forcing his spine to painfully arch back.

Scott snarled as he started in on him. He was a brutal machine, pounding down on him with the force of an avalanche. Reyes’ choked out a strangled scream around his constraints, the thought his spine might snap and he’d rip in two simultaneously. “S-s-stop!!” The pounding lasted for only a few more minutes, stopping shortly after the belt tugged ferociously tight and his air was cut off completely. A few more brutal thrusts and it was over.

Once he was spent, Scott released the belt and let a gasping Reyes put his head back to the cool sheets. Scott grabbed him by the hair again, forcing his neck sideways, then leaned over and kissed him briefly. Then the barrel of the gun was caressing his lips again, slowly entering his mouth. “Guess what?” The gun left his mouth. Scott pressed it firmly into a pillow next to Reyes’ face then emptied the last three chambers. _BANG BANG BANG_. Loaded. Scott laughed hysterically, like someone had told the funniest joke in the world. The pillow smoked, Reyes turned his face to the mattress and cried silently, too afraid to make a sound.

Reyes had been certain that that was the day he was going to die. The monster in his bed wasn’t Scott, he wasn’t sure if Scott actually made it out of that alley alive. But he was wrong, he didn’t die. Neither did Scott. Not for another seven years. Seven more years of love, hate, abuse, and a murder rampage that would set the nation on fire.

Scott whispered in his ear before he left, “I’d never kill you. I love you, too.” He licked his hand and left a stinging slap on Reyes’ bare ass that made him flinch, then walked out the door as he zipped his jeans. Reyes moaned through a short laugh, a mirthless huff of breath leaving his chest. Ironic, really. That was the first time either of them had ever spoken those three words out loud. It was official. They were in love.

It was an hour later that Keema let herself in and found Reyes half laughing, half crying into bullet riddled sheets, his hands still cuffed behind his back and pants sitting just below his ass. Scott was nowhere to be found.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott gets a little revenge. Sara visits!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of implied torture. More than one murder takes place in this chapter.

**November 12, 1985**

 

Scott had been stalking the girl for almost two weeks. He remembered every detail of what she did to him, or rather, what she did to his dimwitted, lovesick alter-ego he felt compelled to protect. Even though it wasn’t him, his body still ached for the abuse all the same.

She had ripped two of his fingernails off with a rusted metal… implement, he wasn’t sure what its original purpose had been. It didn’t matter, he brought a pliers. She had held a lighter to his groin, until the skin split and turned black. It was still tender when he got hard, even though the skin graft had healed. He brought a proper torch lighter. She had shoved a screw driver up his ass, causing tears to his rectum. He brought a mother fucking power drill.

The list of injuries went on, as did the list of tools in his duffle bag, stowed in a storage room close by.

He knew the way she walked home each night, too cocky and sure of her powers as a societal menace to fear harm to her own being. She walked like a real piece of shit, the kind that thinks they’re untouchable. He knew she would take a right at the next street, then slip down the alley to her left. He had prepared everything earlier in the day.

He ignored the twinge in his hip as he hurried after her. She took her right turn. Predictable. He was a shadow, like a silent ninja warrior out for vengeance. He wanted to smell the iron piquancy of her spilling blood. He quickened his step, so close behind her now.

She turned into the alley, walked a dozen steps, then he was on her. A syringe of Nembutal going directly into her neck. It wasn’t a strong enough dose to completely knock her out, but it made her dizzy and easy to manage. He wanted her awake for the whole ordeal. He wrapped a gloved hand around her face, clamping down over her mouth, then dragged her through the door directly behind them. He had made sure it was unlocked and ajar less than an hour ago.

He slammed the door shut behind them, locked the bolt, then flicked the switch to light a room straight out of a 1970’s French snuff-exploitation film. Let the gore commence. Scott smiled as he threw the evil wench to the ground.

 

 ---

 

Sara blinked her eyes. It felt like months, maybe years, since she was fully awake. She stretched with delight in her freshly awoken body, one leg lifted off the ground, knee bent ‘til her toes almost brushed her perfect ass, arms akimbo, up on the toes of her other foot. She arched her back with a sigh, then cringed at the sudden pain in her ribs and hips and nearly toppled from her graceful pose. _OK, no deep breaths for a tick. And probably no yoga. Fuck!_

Sara didn’t have any direct memories of what happened while she was asleep, but had meticulously set up a filing system on her computer of a brain. She sat down in proper Buddha pose and closed her eyes. She opened the drawer and rifled through the files until she came across the one labeled “recent events”. The file was 8 bajillion pages long. Fuck that. She scanned again and found “Recent Events: massively abridged”. Perfect!

Despite being giddy at her recent awakening, her mood darkened as she read. Well, darkened just a smidge. Errrr, annoyed mostly. OK, only for a second. And only because the body she had to share wasn’t up to her usual standards. Whatever shit the Scotts got themselves into wasn’t any big fuckin’ deal to her. She kept reading. Fucker fucking fuck-heads! Scars. Literally. Everywhere! She was desperate to get to a mirror. This was likely a make-up emergency.

She gritted her teeth and let out an exasperated sigh. She put the files away and opened her eyes, taking in the scene of gore and horror before her. She laughed, it sounded like clear jingling bells on a warm spring day. _Oh, Scott, you done it again_. She high fived herself and knew her brother would remember. Sara untangled her legs from the Buddha pose, then stood up. Slowly. Her fucking hip joint was locking up.

Sara walked over to the girl before her and studied the remains. She was tied to a Judas cross (that’s a big friggin ‘X’ kids, not a little ‘t’), nails driven through her hands, most of her fingernails removed. She crinkled her nose in mock disgust. There was a hole carved out between her legs, where vaginal canal and anus once belonged. There, large and small intestines spilled to the ground. Some of the viscera was wrapped around her neck like a noose. Other bits that had spilled to the floor were obviously stomped upon… She looked at her shoes and giggled at the gore stuck to them. _Ugh, I hate waking up dressed like a boy, anyway. Shopping time._

She spotted some clothes strewn to the side and started rifling through them. House keys. Who cares. Tossed to the side. ID, Margot Fischer. “OH, I’m _Maaargot_! Ha!” Sara rolled her eyes. Tossed to the side. Bingo baby! Cold, hard wad of cash in a money clip. _MINE!_

Sara left the storage room, a skip in her step (a skip that made her grimace from the twinge in her hip. _Fuckers_!), then headed out into the cool autumn evening.

She didn’t go far before she found a little unisex, gothy-type boutique that was still open. It was only 7pm, so she’d have plenty of time to browse. She grabbed a handful of random black garments then headed to the dressing room. She emptied out the contents of her pockets, then changed into something more suitable to her standards. _Fishnets are way more awesome than jeans!_ She high fived her reflection in the mirror, seriously digging the _Siouxie and the Banshees shirt_ she found. It hung off one shoulder and was killer with the kilt style mini skirt she donned. “Bitch, you are _fuckable!”_

She picked up the random detritus that Scott had stowed in his pockets, tossing most of it back in without looking. She found a switchblade. _Wicked!_ And pocketed that immediately.

Sara walked back out onto the floor, dug around and found a seriously rad leather jacket and threw it on over her ensemble. Then walked over to the boots and found a pair of mid-calf Doc Martins that fit perfect. _Sweet! This night just keeps getting better and better._ Finally, she had to do something about this dreadful face. Like, who the hell walks around with ‘FAG’ scarred into their forehead without applying concealer?! As if.

A few minutes later, the annoying clerk was nattering at her to pay before she used the make-up they had stocked around the counter. Sara threw the money clip at her. “Shut the fuck up, I’m about to be gorgeous.” Fifteen minutes later her face was perfect. Smoky cat eyes and pouty red lips, scars invisible. She learned how to be quick about these things. After all, she was sharing her body with a bunch of guys who always liked to intrude when she was gussying up.

Finally satisfied with her looks, she pocketed the make-up and realized the clerk was still jibber-jabbering at her… la la la, this isn’t enough money. La la la, you still owe me $75 for the boots, La la la… Sara took out the switch blade and stabbed her in the throat. One swift, action hero motion. She died gurgling. “I told you to shut the fuck up.” Sara scooped the money clip back up, reached across the counter to the register, hit the ‘no sale’ button and spirited away all the cash in the till. She was so pleased with herself that she didn’t notice the fresh blood spatter across her awesome new clothes and perfect face.

“Now, where the fuck do I find a razor to shave my legs…” At least Scott had shaved his face recently. Ugh, waking up with scruff was the _WORST!_

She pissed off into the night, searching her filing cabinet brain for an address.

Tartarus sounded intriguing. She _definitely_ had a thing for Latin men.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes meets Sara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of sexual content, nothing super graphic. Some drug use, as well.

The last two weeks were hell for Reyes. He wasn’t one to often dabble with his own products, but he had taken the habit of keeping himself on the cocaine regularly. He was too despondent otherwise, the bumps kept him in a state of mental numbness, sometimes cheerfulness even crept out. But as soon as he’d wake up the following afternoon, he’d be so depressed he wasn’t sure if he wanted to live.

Since Scott had shown up that random Tuesday a year ago, Reyes had stopped taking customers who couldn’t pay him in cash, he was too besotted to get off on it. But after the incident two weeks ago, Reyes had become indifferent, didn’t care if what he did in his work hours hurt Scott. He kind of wanted to. So, he started letting people pay in favors again, essentially whoring themselves out for a fix. It wasn’t as lucrative, but it helped keep his mind off things. And made him feel like he was getting a bit of payback for all the shit he’d been put through the last few months.

Then he’d wake up the next day and feel like such a piece of garbage. He hated himself and he hated Scott. He hated all the desperate people who came looking to suck him off. Then he’d do a fat line and the world seemed a lot less bleak, he could get back to business.

 After a few days and still no signs of Scott, Reyes was sure he was dead. He had mixed feeling on that. Part of him screamed “Good Riddance!”, but mostly he was beside himself with grief. He just didn’t give a shit about anything right now. So, when Scott finally walked through the door, or more sashayed the way Keema often did, Reyes wasn’t sure if he wanted to jump up in elation or throw himself off the Brooklyn bridge.

“So! This is Tartarus!” He (she?) knocked the door behind them with a graceful swish of a hip and strolled over to sit beside Reyes. “I hear you’ve been fucking my brother.”

Reyes put his head in his hands and sighed. Not Scott, then. “I suppose I have been.” He looked up into familiar blue eyes, heavily lined with perfect black smoke. Somehow the makeup made the cerulean seem to turn into shades of lavender at random places, hypnotizing to gaze into. “I…” He cleared his throat, “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” he offered his hand.

“Sara.” She took his hand and put his fingertips up to her lips, then teasingly bit the ends, one at a time. “I came by to see what kind of man you are…” She winked, then laughed at his confused expression. It sounded like the tinkling of spring rain. She then leaned over the table and helped herself to a line of coke he had set up for himself. “Ahhh, that’s what the doctor ordered…”

Reyes just watched, didn’t know what to say. Didn’t feel like he had the right to demand where Scott had been, he hadn’t bothered looking for him after all. And now the person in front of him wasn’t his boy, not even a boy at all, he supposed. So, we watched. Watched the way her lips moved when she spoke, painted in a matte blood red. The color brought out the fullness tenfold. And watched slender fingertips, perfectly polished black nails, stroke her swanlike neck. Every motion she made was graceful and seductive. Not at all like Scott, who was often awkward and hesitant.

Lips still moving, she rolled off the leather sofa like a dancer, then crawled onto his lap, straddling him. “Are you listening to me?” she purred into his ear. His breath caught, Scott’s soft voice, he could almost pretend.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I _said,_ I hand embroidered the corpse of the last person to ignore me when I spoke.” A switch blade came out, pressed against his throat. “You gonna listen, or do I need to teach you a lesson?” Her lips were so close to his he could taste her breath. Sweet and perfect, just like Scott’s. He decided he didn’t care who was behind the wheel, they were in his lover’s body, and he missed that body as much as he missed the chipper boy that, once upon a time, came with it.

“You have my undivided attention” His arms circled her waist and drew her body closer, ignoring the blade, wet and sticky, at his throat. When their lips met, his body filled with heat, a soft, salty tongue brushing his. He realized he really could pretend this was Scott, both apologizing and forgiving him, an almost perfect make up. Fuck the pain away.

He slid his hands inside her pleated skirt and tore a hole into fishnet stockings, then ripped her underpants. She laughed, more spring rain, bells in the breeze. The blade dug harder into his flesh and he felt a warm trickle of blood run down his neck. She kissed him harder, bit his lip, then the blade left his throat, Sara’s mouth moving to his neck, and she gave a kiss he knew would leave a mark for days.

In one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, her head hanging off the edge of the sofa, as she laughed again. Her lipstick smeared across perfect white skin somehow made her all the more appealing. He paused only long enough to undo his fly and pull himself out, then he was on top of her, hips grinding together, feelings of loss urging him to reclaim this creature.

She brought a hand to her mouth, slicked fingers with saliva, then moved it downward, in between them. After a moment of movement, her head still slung back, moaning, she guided him inside her.

For the next two hours, Reyes fucked her like his life depended on it, and truth be told, he wasn’t sure it didn’t.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super short one. The song mentioned is 'Lullaby' by The Cure

The next morning Reyes woke up, stiff from head to toe. Sara had followed him home from Tartarus and they ended up doing blow and fucking until Reyes finally had to pass out from exhaustion, somewhere around 5am. She was wild, completely psychotic and liked to cut. He needed a shower and maybe a few stitches.

He looked over at blue eyes peeking out from under the blankets, watching him. Reyes panicked for a moment, he had no idea who was in his bed right now. He hoped Sara had left, but he’d take her company over some of the others.  He gingerly reached over and slid the blankets away from the face, eyeliner still nearly intact, red lipstick smeared. He cupped his hand to the cheek, “Who’s in there?”

“Luci, Have I ever told you that you look like an angel?”

Reyes laughed in relief. It’s something Scott had told him most mornings when they woke up together, at least before everything started going to shit. “All the time, mi amore.”

 “I don’t have to leave, do I?”

“Never.” Reyes meant it. He didn’t care what Scott did to him, how much he hated the boy’s guts sometimes. He would cling possessively to the fragile creature forever. He reached over and pulled the scarred body into a tight embrace, Scott nuzzling his face into his neck.

Scott started humming a song that Reyes didn’t recognize. A few words softly escaped. _“The spider man is having me for dinner tonight.”_ Odd boy.

Scott stayed himself for several days before the next terrifying outburst.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Reyes should not be together. They both flip a lid, in their respective manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non/con, violence, self loathing.  
> 

**November 17, 1985**

 

Reyes dodged as the tv remote flew passed his head, shattering across the wall.

“Scott, stop! Calm down!”

Scott had started screaming franticly about five minutes prior. They had been curled up on the sofa watching some seriously bad teen drama about social outcasts in detention (Breakfast Club?), but Scott loved it, so Reyes acquiesced. They weren’t wearing much, as it was just the two of them, occasional soft kisses and caresses to bare skin. It was nice, how it had been, and how Reyes hoped it would always be. But now, Scott was off the handle. Reyes since had been trying to corner and restrain him so he could prepare his sedatives. “Witch!” Pillows from the sofa followed the remote, Reyes pushed them away from his face as they came at him.

“My heart is gone!” Scott began desperately clawing at his chest, leaving red, bleeding welts. “It’s gone!” As soon as Reyes came closer, a clawed hand flailed out and got him across the cheek, he could feel welts of his own forming; it stung something fierce. “The devil take you!”

“Calm down, Scott! No one has taken your heart, shush now!” Reyes was trying to muster all his patience, he didn’t want to give Scott any more of a mind fuck than he was already going through, but it was getting to the point where force was going to be necessary.

But the boy kept flailing and the screaming wouldn’t stop. A glass of wine came crashing at Reyes, he moved, but it shattered on his elbow, leaving a bloody gash that would need stitches. Enough was enough. Reyes lunged and tackled Scott, trying to get him into a subduing hold. They struggled on the floor for several minutes before Reyes had his belt tied around Scott’s wrists.

He dragged a kicking, flailing Scott to the bedroom by the arms, it was a physically exhausting exertion and Reyes was growing angry, which was equally mentally exhausting keeping it in check. As they got into the bedroom, Scotts kicking legs knocked into the dresser causing all the objects on top to go crashing to the floor. Framed pictures, a bottle of cologne, a coin jar… glass littered the floor and cut the bottoms of Reyes’ feet as he was forced to step through it in the struggle. The cologne burned into the new cuts. “Shiiit! Fuck!”

Reyes managed to finally get the boy face first onto the bed, sitting on the small of his back, fore arm against the back of his head while he worked to move the restraints so Scott was properly belted to the headboard. Once the belt was tied in place, Scott’s arms above his head, he removed the pressure of his body from the boy’s frame and made a move to grab his cuffs from the nightstand. As soon as Reyes moved, Scott was up on his knees, pulling with all his might, cracking the wood of the headboard. Cuffs in hand, Reyes grabbed him by the ankles and flattened him back to his belly, restraining an ankle to the foot post.

Scott was still screaming bloody murder, “Witch! My heart! May the devil take your soul!” His face was bright red and the veins in his neck were popping out.

Reyes moved quickly into the locked cupboard in the bathroom, prepared a double dose of Nembutal in a syringe, then like a bat out of hell was back to Scott, flailing around his restraints. Reyes ripped the boy’s boxers away from his ass and drove the syringe into a perfect, round cheek. A few minutes later the kicking subsided, and Scott finally drifted off, finally calm and sleeping.

Reyes was seething, staying calm was the most taxing thing in the world at that moment. Breathing hard, sweating, bleeding, and voice shaking, “I hate you... I fucking hate you,” he told the boy. Rage boiled in him that he no longer cared if he kept in check. He snapped.

He pulled his own boxers down and mounted the comatose Scott, grabbing his hair and growling in his ear, “You hear that you shit?” He slammed the dead weight of Scott's head back to the pillow. He used his knee to move Scott’s one unrestrained leg up and out of the way, then used spit to lube up and entered him. He fucked Scott for all he was worth, which at that moment, wasn’t a lot. He came quick, desperately needing that release. He was a piece of garbage. He ungracefully pulled out, stumbled back off the bed and stared at him. Bleeding, bruised and restrained, breathing the deep breath of drug induced sleep.

A soft sound came from the TV in the other room, the ending credits:

_Will you stand above me?_  
_Look my way, never love me_  
_Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling_  
_Down, down, down_

Self-loathing filled Reyes, tears filled his eyes and he needed to scream. “I… FUCKING…HATE YOU!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's not seen the Breakfast Club, the ending credits was "Don't Forget About Me" by Simple Minds.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe everything doesn't completely suck!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts with dark broody thoughts, but I figured I'd lighten the mood a bit! A chapter with a happy ending... don't expect it a lot, though ;)  
> edit: chapter 8 posted today. I'm going to add the posting date to the new chapters from here on out, since a lot of them will be inserted into Part One rather than added to the end.

**Feb 14, 1986**

The last several months had left Reyes in a state of utter mental exhaustion. Scott had slowly started becoming himself more frequently until the shifts only occurred every few days, but when they happened, Reyes was terrified of what he might bring himself to do, what he _had_ brought himself to do.

Reyes often daydreamed about shooting Scott in the head, then turning the pistol on himself. The world would be better off, they would be better off. But he couldn’t do it. They would certainly die together, but not like that. He sometimes thought about trying to end it by having Scott institutionalized, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind it was like an invisible fist punched him in the gut. He was more than in love, he was addicted. And to what, he couldn’t fathom.

The only time he felt misery like this was as a young boy, beaten by his mother for not being kinder to tío Alejandro. He couldn’t find it in him to be nice to the man. He was a deplorable man and did deplorable things. Especially to Reyes and his sister. And now he regularly felt the clutches of that sickness at his throat after so many years.

But then, like the breath of God to sooth his weary soul, Scott would come back to himself and Reyes would forget the exhaustion and misery for a few fleeting moments. And those moments were worth every dark thought that threatened to extinguish him, every vile action that made him less human.

It was with those mixed thoughts that Reyes walked home from Tartarus, stopping next door to pick up Scotts favorite Chinese take-out on the way. A block from home, he snuck into his neighbor’s garden and plucked one perfect red rose from a bush, then continued on, dread filling every chamber of his heart. Dread… and hope. Flickering hope, so dim it was almost unnoticed. But it was there.

He entered his warehouse building, nearly swallowed whole by his trepidation, but as he approached his door, he heard music from within and the not so harmonious sounds of Scott singing along in falsetto.

_Trying to find it…_

_You’ve got to get up behind it…_

Reyes leaned his head on the door briefly, smiling to himself in utter relief.

_Put your dime in the hot slot…_

_It’s a million to one shot…_

He turned the handle and walked into the loft, an even larger smile splitting his face at the scene before him. Scott was up on the island countertop wearing nothing but a chef’s apron, dancing for all his worth, singing along into a dirty spatula, dried egg coating the edge. Reyes was actually impressed at his moves, and entirely appreciative of the way his backside jiggled as he moved his hips.

_Give me a breakdown…_

_It's time for a shakedown…_

Scott gave a little squeal as he noticed Reyes watching him, frozen in place. A look of embarrassment crossed his face, ears turning slightly red, but it was only momentarily. Laughing, he did a little spin in time to the music, then shook his ass in Reyes’ direction.

Reyes set the food and flower down on the counter near the fridge, then he leaned back and took in the rest of the show, grinning ear to ear, whistling in appreciation. As the song ended and the radio DJ started in on _what we just heard and what’s up next,_ Scott stopped to catch his breath.

 Reyes approached him, standing tall on the island, beaming down at him, blue eyes glittering. Reyes ran his hands up the back of his legs, tucked his head inside the apron and gave a little bite to the inside of his thigh. Scott was far too tall in his current position, and Reyes couldn’t reach where his lips wanted to go, so he pulled the boy down to sit on the edge.

Still giggling, Scott sat and pulled Reyes in tightly, legs wrapping around his waist, mouth fervently seeking his own. Reyes lost himself in the moment, forgetting that he had ever had doubts or sadness. Nothing in the world existed except the two of them. Momento lux.

“Angelum lucis ex tenebris,” Scott breathed into the kiss. Reyes didn’t know what it meant, but he loved it none the less. Loved this strange boy and all his odd charm. He made a mental note to discover where the boy learned all the Latin from.

Reyes slid his arms around Scott’s waist and untied the string of the chef’s apron, then once the stiff fabric was banished to the floor, he urged him down onto his back.  Reyes removed his own clothes while Scott got himself comfortable on the cold countertop, stretching arms above his head and arching his back. Scott was singing softly to himself. _There was a tall man with his companion. And I bet you gave him coffee homeground…_ He let out a ticklish giggle and jerked back as he pinched his own nipples. “Oops”.

They were both laughing as Reyes climbed onto the island above Scott, placing his hips between the boy’s thighs. A small frown came to Scott’s face as the commercial break ended and the DJ’s voice chimed in. “Here’s a new one from Erasure!” Scott’s lip started trembling as the song began, his eyes growing wide. _I try to discover… a little something to make me sweeter…_ Scott covered his face with his hands and let out a sob. _Oh, baby refrain… from breaking my heart…_ Reyes quickly hopped down so he could shut off the offending song. _I’m so in love with you…_

Reyes hit the off switch and hurried back to Scott, who had curled into a ball on his side, weeping into his hands.

“Scott, shhhh. It’s ok now.” Reyes helped him sit up and tried to sooth him with a warm embrace, gentle hands caressing his hair. His shoulder was soaked with tears for his effort. Scott clung to him, shaking.

After a few minutes of being held, Scott shifted out of the embrace, found a linen towel and dried his cheeks, then blew his nose. “I’m better. I feel better. I think I just spoiled everything.” He gave a short, defeated laugh.

Reyes hugged him again, “Not everything, mi amore. I have Chinese food.” He pulled back from the embrace and winked.

Scott purred through his teeth, eyelids drooped halfway. “I want to eat that off your body.”

Reyes laughed, “That can be arranged.”

It didn’t take long for Scott to pop back to himself, his ghosts subdued for a time. He smiled and laughed when Reyes realized that he was quite serious about using him as a plate, not allowing the other man to dress. By the time the two of them were finished eating, Reyes was covered head to toe in Szechuan, Scott happily licking him clean, focusing most of his attention on his groin. Reyes didn’t mind one bit.

They eventually moved into the shower, where Reyes helped Scott wash away pieces of their dinner from his hair, still laughing. Once they were acceptably clean, no more debris from their meal clinging to their bodies, the two young men stood under the falling water and shared themselves completely.

It wasn’t just sex. Up until this point the relationship felt like something clingy, trashy, obsessive on both ends.  Something transcended in that moment, the darkness and the light melded together then dissipated, leaving the two of them locked together in tender embrace. Sex was carnal and ferocious between them, this was something else.

Something shifted within Reyes, and he knew from that moment on he’d always love all of the hidden beings in Scott’s mind. No more frustration, anger or hate. God is love; he bathed in His presence. Reyes could feel a million souls peeking out through the window of the boy’s eyes, and he knew that all those Lost Boys secreted within Scott knew they were loved, too. Completely.

“Te amo, Luci” Scott whispered as their lips met. Though it was just one voice, to Reyes, it seemed like he heard a hundred voices say it at once, every part of Scott now belonged to him, and Reyes belonged to Them.

After that night, Scott's violent outbursts were rarely directed at Reyes. When his mind shifted to another personality, Reyes was able to keep them calm and warm, he became a symbol of comfort to the disturbed young man. It seemed Scott started accepting what happened, or perhaps found solace in the acceptance Reyes finally gave him.

As they curled up to sleep, time and the outside world forgotten, Scott began humming again. _“You won’t get me with your hemlock on the rocks”._ Reyes smiled as he drifted off. Scott would always be strange and he was glad for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless use of 80's songs!  
> "Temptation" by Heaven 17  
> "Coffee Homeground" by Kate Bush (the song Scott was humming, both times)  
> "Respect" by erasure


End file.
